In Which Miracles Do Happen
by CherryDrug
Summary: A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!
1. Chapter 1

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by: _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _Okay people, let's start this off with a big, huge_ BANG, _people!_ _I don't own the Transformers or any of its_ _franchise, characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands or song lyrics written here in this story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself (Yep, you heard me, no human trafficking here :P). Oh, and if you see anything that SEEMS to be copyrighted, it is NOT (I repeat, NOT) to be intended, so no sueing is allowed here, capische?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated_ _fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters :** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairings** **:** _Optimus/Elita-One; Ironhide/Chromia; Jazz/Prowl; Sam/Mikaela (indefinite, maybe?) ... for now. Still deciding the rest, opinions and reviews are welcomed to broaden my options._

 **Author's Freaking Long Note:** _Hey, wassup? I know, I know, there's another story that needs to be worked on (*coughs*STEPBYSTEP*coughs*) but my other co-author, ChocoDrug, is in charge of that and I'm not really allowed to post anything without her permission. Currently, she's having a plot bunny and is deciding if whether or not the chapter is acceptable (*whispers* she's a perfectionist, beware!). Sooo, while she's working on that, I'mma just go write this story that's been poking me in my sleep. Oh! And I forgot one important detail :D... I love reviews, and I just LOVE opinions, to be honest. Why? Because they help improve my writing and help better this story into something that can be proudly read, BUT I only like opinions that aren't nonsense AKA Flames. If you like, I can give you an example of TOTAL nonsense :)_

 _Example: "Why the hell are those two paired?! You know what, this story's rubbish! Why the hell did you even write it in the first place?!"; "Ugh, why's your (Canon character like that?! He/She's not supposed to be like that!"; etc._

 _Dear Future Flamer: If you don't like something/someone, AT LEAST notify me in a polite way. Because to be honest? I've dealt with people like you, so I know just what the hell I'd have to do to deal with you. You don't give the authors a CHANCE to change or correct their mistakes, so let me say something clear with you. You wanna harass me? Fine. But I'll harass you back. Tenfold. I'm not the eye for an eye person (I don't believe in shit like that) but I'm most definitely an eye for a heart person. Flame this story or any other story written underneath this username, then you'll pay. I'll report you and block you. But that's it. I won't flame any of your stories, why? Because I'm not just some horrible, terrible, sick waste of space just like you. I have my pride and dignity and I would not go so far as to stoop so low as to flame another author's story because I ADMIRE every story here (whether their ones I've read or not, or are crappy or amazing), because this is all the hard work of people who LOVE their fandom and are just having fun on the net, and for me to do that to someone else? It'll me make feel like a horrible piece of shit and nothing better than you. But let me tell you one thing: YOU. STARTED. IT. So don't expect me to just back down and let you ruin MY fun because when the frag did I ruin YOURS? I'll fight back, and I'm not afraid to do so. Report me, block me, I don't give a slag because all I'm doing is defending what I love, capische?_

 _Hoping for you to realise this and become a better person, the Author._

 _-Inserts Smiley Face Here- :D_

 _Okay. Now that THAT'S done, I just wanted to remedy my, ugh, scary speech to possible Flamers. But don't worry! :) To anyone else who has a question regarding possible OOC-ness or dislike to certain characters or merely confusion to certain parts, I'll pm you back first, and ASK what I did wrong, so don't be afraid to ask or correct, because honest to Primus I'm very nice and patient. Just don't be rude when you ask. You can be funny, add something perverted, or just be generally nice or polite with your questions or reviews, but don't expect me to not be rude when you're rude to me 'kay? Okay!_

 _Oh, and feel free to either rage or criticise my OC characters xD I got no problem with that. Every character has their lovers and their haters. *Looks at Sentinel Prime*_

 _Anyways, this idea's been egging me on for a LONG time, and I just found time to do it now, to be honest. The updates MIGHT be slow, but expect long ones, 'kay? (At least more than 10,00 words, I think...) You can egg me on for not updating quicker ;) I won't get mad at that, instead I'll feel REALLY happy that you're expecting something from this story, so don't hesitate, HAHAHA!_

 ** _Anyways... Let's just get on with the story, ne? I bet you're either interested or just generally bored enough to even bother opening this link, but do enjoy ;)_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

 _ **In Which I Can Be As Paranoid As My Mother**_

* * *

If I had been given the choice of being reincarnated or transferred into the Transformers universe, I wouldn't even bat a single eyelash as I would flatly answer, _**"NO"**_

And it wasn't like I hated Transformers. In fact, it was the very opposite. I _loved_ it, almost to an extent you could even call it my not so little secret that everyone I knew _knew_ that it was the crack to my pot. Because ever since I was a little girl I had already been hooked on the original 1986 G1 Transformers series that my brother had a spare DVD of. I remembered that I enjoyed the idea of mechanical sentient beings thrice or quadruple my size living out there in outer space and I got to watch their awesome little adventures on T.V.

It was embarrassing to admit that I thought there really _were_ Transformers out there when I was four, but fortunately for me my older brother had been the one to tell me that 'They're not real, they're just cartoons,' before I could embarrass myself and shout out to the world like some madwoman that there really were sentient mechanical beings out there.

I remembered I had thrown such a large tantrum when I had found out everything that I've watched was fiction and that my favourite characters had never been real to begin with. As well as hiding my brother's phone in the freezer for a month.

But eventually, I grew up (and begrudgingly said sorry for hiding my brother's now destroyed phone), having already accepted the fact that my favourite cartoons weren't real and just plain fiction used to entertain the minds of people. But that still didn't stop me from watching every goddamn Transformers related series out there.

Transformers G1 was and still is a personal favourite of mine, because that had been the beginning of my journey to the Transformers fandom. I was addicted to its plot line because it was simply _amazing,_ despite the corny dialogues; my favourite Autobot then had been Jazz, because c'mon who couldn't love him?, whereas my favourite Decepticon was Soundwave because I had been hung on his 'fantabulously-super-ultra-cool-voice' as I had nicknamed it when I was about five or six.

And yes, I had a thing for guys with visors. When I was probably five or six, I had put that condition on 'The man I will marry should have:' list that would forever haunt me for the rest of my life. It didn't help when my brother would always bring it out and use it to blackmail me to do his house chores, the little glitch.

But anyways, I watched everything related to Transformers that I could get my hands on. The Headmasters, Super-God Masterforce, Victory! and Zone didn't really appeal to me that much aside from the better graphics; whereas Transformers Armada, Energon and Cybertron _really_ appealed to me, because c'mon! Starscream becoming a good guy and developing a friendly relationship with a human (that I _so_ fucking ship) in Armada? Then having to go back into a freaking bad guy in Energon because of Uni-fucking-cron? And the ending where Coby and Lori got married after everything in Cybertron? Wow, just... wow.

And Beast Wars! Yeah! It weirded me out at first that they transformed into animals but eventually I got used to it and began enjoying watching every episode. Ah~ Those were really the good times.

And don't even get me started on Transformers Animated. The characters were super anime-kawaii, and when I took one look at Jazz's ultra cool (yet kinda perverted, hehe) design and _Prowl_ as a motherfragging _ninja,_ it was hands down one of the best cartoons of my childhood. Because seriously, Transformers was already cool enough with robots, but _**robot ninjas**_?! That was just on a whole other level. So, it really wasn't that much of a surprise to me when the entire series had landed itself as my third most favorite Trasnformers series with how badass it had become.

Transformers Rescue Bots didn't satiate my hunger for a good Transformers series, since it was for little kids and once I saw the graphics I was immediately like, _'No, nu-uh, not watching that. Ever'_

The GO! series was okay too, but was incredibly too short for my liking though. It had lots of potential but then it was shut down too early 'cause of budget problems, last I've heard.

And then Transformers Prime came out, and I was literally trigger-happy when I saw all of the character's designs. They all looked super badass! My favourite so far from that series was (surprise surprise) Soundwave. But my close second would be Knockout, 'cause of his sassy personality and good looks (what can I say? The mech really was smoking hot). But what really made Transformers Prime my second favorite Transformers series was when I saw _Arcee_ as one of the leading protagonists. This was probably the first time I'd _ever_ seen a femme have that large of a role in _any_ Transformers series, and you can bet your credits that I was incredibly hyped up at the very _idea._

I was a hardcore feminist through and through; seeing a badass, strong-willed, and battle-hardened femme like Arcee _really_ made the feminist inside of me swell up in pride.

I knew that there was gonna be another series coming out, one that was a direct sequel to Transformers Prime. I heard that it was called Robots in Disguise and that 'Bee would be the lead 'bot and that there was a femme called Strongarm. I heard that _only_ Sideswipe (where the fragging pit was Sunstreaker these days?!) and Grimlock would be a part of the main team, as well as a minicon called Fixit.

And last but not the very least, there was the Michael Bay version that I both loathed and loved with all my heart. For starters, since I've never read a single Transformers comic in my whole life, (well, I've never _held_ one to be more exact, only downloaded the comics online) it introduced a whole new bunch of both human and cybertronian characters. For starters, we have the twitchy Sam Witwicky and his hot girlfriend Mikaela Banes which would then be replaced by the equally hot Carly Spencer; Will, Sarah, Annabelle, Epps, Keller, Maggie, Glen, Miles, Cade, Tessa, Shane and so many more humans. Then we also have Skids and Mudflap, Jolt, Brains, Leadfoot, Scorn and like I said a moment ago, even more.

And not too mention the mere _plot_ the movie used. Most of it were no-nonsense that the humour and explosions (that Bay seemed to have an odd fetish for) made up for but if you really delved deep into it you would see that it actually made some sense. The drama that had been added, the adventure it held for each character, and not to mention the fully-packed _action_ that made it look like metal parts were having sex. Yeah, I couldn't really understand half of the fights but my brain had apparently registered it as pure raw _awesomeness_.

And let's not forget the heart shattering deaths. Each and everyone of them. And yes, I'm even talking about the Decepticons here, since no matter how insane they are, they too held a spot in my heart. Jazz, ripped in half by Megatron; Frenzy, Blackout, the Constructicons, Barricade and Starscream, defeated by either foolishly stupid or brave humans; Brawl, Rampage, Laserbeak and Soundwave, taken down by Bumblebee; Jetfire, sacrificed himself to help the Autobot cause despite his Decepticon status; Sideways, butchered in half by Sideswipe; Jolt, killed off by Shockwave; Wheeljack, shot in the chest by Barricade; Shockwave, Sentinel and Lockdown, offlined by Optimus himself; Ironhide and Skids and Mudflap, offlined by Sentinel Prime; Ratchet, Leadfoot, and the Arcee triplets, hunted down by Lockdown. And let's not forget about Megatron dying twice throughout the movies, which he deserved for trying to enslave us and rule the world but still cracked my heart a bit every time I watched it, because what was once a strong-willed gladiator who actually led the Decepticon cause to renew Cybertron from the unfair treatment most aristocrats in Cybertron would give to those who were lower than them, was now a power-hungry tyrant who was more of a dictator than the leader he had been oh so long ago.

It really hurt me a lot to see such strong mechs and femmes go down like that, after years of me watching their bravery and skills in battle and how they acted when they weren't fighting their biggest enemies. Because despite their huge metallic bodies, they weren't that much different from us humans. They had hearts too, but was termed in their culture as sparks and were orbs of glowing light that were the very essence of their souls, and no matter how cruel or brutal they were in battle they too had feelings. They could feel pain, happiness, sadness, anger, and love as well.

And it really pained me to watch such strong warriors fight until the bitter end, believing in whatever cause they believed in until their sparks extinguished. It was heart-wrenchingly admirable. Really, it was. Because they all deserved to see the end of the war, where peace would finally settle in. Call me unrealistic, but a fangirl could dream right?

But there was a reason why I loathed Michael Bay. Sure, I could thank him for making Transformers into a live action blockbuster movie _and_ for widening its fandom, but did he really have to eff up the characters' personalities and the most basic of _basic_ things that any Trans-fan would know?

For starters, when the fuck did Optimus become such a war-freak? Last time I checked, he wasn't that much of a violent person and if there was a chance to spare a spark he would, no matter how much that mech or femme had done, he would save them. Because that was Optimus _Prime_ , the one Primus had hand picked to lead his children. At least he was still the gentle giant I knew, but only to the humans and his fellow Autobots. And the way he man-handled those Dinobots in the last movie! That was complete and utter dictatorship that anybody would expect from _Megatron_ and not bossbot himself.

And, to be honest, I felt bad for Starscream in the movies. Because all I've seen him kinda do was keep getting beaten up by Megatron, spit out green energon, keep missing targets, get killed by Sam, and just _fail._ Which was sad, for me. Because what happened to the narcissistic Starscream that always shot Megatron in the back? The only thing that made my anger and sadness for Starscream go away whenever I watched the movies was the shape of his body. Hah! I could never look at doritoes without remembering ol' Screamer. And honestly, despite how much I hated the little bugger, the Decepticons wouldn't really be complete without him.

Anyways, no matter how much I wanted to rant on and on about how much Jazz should have made it through the first movie (because _c'mon!_ Jazz was a fantabulous mech! What did you have against him, Bay? Was it the visor?!), now wasn't really the time. I had a question to answer right? The one where I didn't really wanna get reincarnated into the Transformers universe?

Well, I can explain.

* * *

To be honest, it had all started with one single question that in the distant future I would look back at ironically.

The day had started out horribly because the thunderstorm that everyone in Blue Keys had been expecting arrived on that day at exactly three o'clock in the morning. My mother had stayed overnight at the hospital since every medical doctor and nurse needed to be there in case of casualties that would need to be tended to immediately, according to our Mayor's briefings; Eric, my asshole of an older brother, was a commissioned officer of the U.S. Air Force so he would still be stationed somewhere in Colorado; Nico, my _other_ older brother (yeah, that's right, I was the freaking _baby_ of the family), would still be in West Point, N.Y. to finish his Military Training.

And my father? Well, he's currently six feet underground at Arlington National Cemetery, so yeah, 'nuff said.

I had woken up early in the morning to the sound of pounding rain and crackling thunder outside my bedroom window, and also to the sleeping bodies underneath me. Almost calmly, I glanced down, and confirmed my suspicions that _yes_ I had fallen asleep on top of my two best friends, and _yes_ all three of us were still perfectly clothed, and _thank God_ I still had my virginity intact.

Not even bothering to be careful, I rolled over them and plopped down on my wooden floor as softly as I could. I glanced back up at the two sleeping quite snugly on my bed and snorted at their peaceful expressions. I stood up, wiped my sweaty palms on my shirt, and eyed my best friends positioned a few inches away from each other.

Immediately, an evil idea formed on my mind and I began shifting arms and legs here and there and placed a head over there. I stepped back to quietly admire my handiwork and grinned evilly. Somebody hand me a Nobel Prize for I'd just created a masterpiece!

Snorting at my thoughts, I turned around and headed out of my room, making sure to slam the door _**really**_ hard on my way out. Immediately, as I descended down the stairs, I heard the sounds of screaming, loud cursing, and things being thrown at my bedroom wall. I smirked, completely satisfied with what I'd done, and emerged into my kitchen slash dining room.

I paused when I entered the completely dark room, and immediately began wondering who had closed the lights. Ever since I had been born, mom had made it a number one rule to leave the lights in the kitchen on in case anyone got hungry in the middle of the night, since my dad and brothers had the unfortunate habit of going down to have a midnight snack and usually fell down the stairs since they couldn't see a single thing in the darkness. And my friends knew all too well how pissed off my mom could get if they didn't obey this single rule.

I warily looked around, and jumped when I heard a loud thump come from upstairs. I looked up at the ceiling, and breathed out a sigh of relief once I heard Ryan's voice cursing out Ciara for kicking him out of the bed. I rolled my eyes at them and muttered a quick, "Idiots."

Making my way ( _downtown~!)_ through the kitchen, I walked over to the switch for the light and flicked it up. I glanced up at the dark light bulb and flicked the switch down. I pursed my lips and looked out of the small kitchen window. I watched as the heavy rain fell to the ground of my backyard and looked out at my neighbour's porch and noticed the lack of light there too.

Grimacing darkly, I scrunched up my nose and sighed heavily, "Looks like the power's out, huh."

"Mew."

I jumped again in surprise and whirled around to face the source of that noise. I blinked as my eyes landed on the figure sitting idly on the countertop. I felt a small smile make its way up to my lips as I walked over to Abyss to rub her head. Almost immediately, the large, dark-furred Abyssinian purred against my touch and rubbed back.

"You're such a sweetie, aren't cha?" I cooed, "Who's my favourite little girl? Who is? Who is? Of course it's you Abyss, it'll always be you!" I winked at her. Abyss mewled in response and continued rubbing her head down my arm.

I looked over my shoulder to eye the doorway once I heard my best friends' fighting move from my bedroom to the staircase, their voices as loud as the rumbling storm outside. I winced once I heard Ciara let out a high-pitched screech and was immediately followed by a distinct thump somewhere at the bottom of the stairs.

I turned to look back at Abyss who had managed to rub her way from my arm to my stomach, purring the entire time and just _demanding_ my entire attention, like the little attention whore she was. I giggled at her actions and cooed to her one last time before I gave her chin a tickle and promptly carried her off the counter and gently placed her on the tiled ground.

She meowed at me, her bluish-green eyes watching me as I gave her one last pat on the head and turned to face the cupboards where my mother had stored some canned foods in case of emergencies like this. I swung open the small cabinet doors and eyed the wide array of canned goods piled up on top of the shelf. Blue Keys was a common place for typhoons, thunderstorms and floods to visit, what with being an area that had the Pacific Ocean as its next door neighbour, and since my mother was a very, _very_ paranoid woman (up to the point she could even be a second Red Alert if she just tried to!), she had made it a point to be completely prepared in case of emergencies; such as one whole cupboard filled to the brim with canned goods, a large backpack stuffed with evacuation materials hidden under the bathroom sink, and a _very_ large first aid kit courtesy of her medical career placed behind the bathroom mirror.

I scanned the entire cupboard for something Abyss could eat and stomach in instead of heaving it out like she always does if the food wasn't up to her standards. Because ever since she had been just a wee little kitty that was just the utterly adorable size of my palm, her stomach had been a very sensitive one that downright _refused_ anything that wasn't Premium Royal Canin Cat food. And sliced ham. And tuna. And chicken. Especially chicken.

Okay, Abyss was a _very_ picky cat who vomited everything she didn't like, 'nuff said.

Anyways, after a few more seconds of scavenging around the cupboard, I had managed to find a medium-sized can of tuna. The bad news? It was stacked on top of _several_ other canned goods.

I narrowed my eyes at the can of tuna, that I just _knew_ was mocking my height. Even on my toes, my fingers barely grazed the third can underneath it. I puffed my cheeks in indignation as I realised that the only way I could achieve the little shit was by climbing the counter top, and there was no way I was doing that after having slipped off of it several times. I wasn't _that_ brain-damaged enough yet.

I pondered over it for a few moments, and heard the scuffle of a fight from down the corridor. Almost immediately, a light bulb lit up on top of my head.

I turned around and cupped my hands over my mouth, making sure to inhale a large amount of air into my lungs, then shrieked so loudly that I could have made Starscream of all mechs proud.

"RYAN QUINNS, GET YOUR AFT IN THE KITCHEN RIGHT THIS SLAGGING MINUTE OR I SWEAR I'LL KICK YOUR SORRY AFT OUTTA MY HOUSE!"

There was a brief pause of silence from the corridor, before I heard a deep male voice curse briefly underneath his breath that was immediately followed by the familiar thumps of footsteps making its way to the kitchen as fast as possible. I waited as patiently as possible and not a second later, a person appeared into the doorway.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW WOMAN?!" Ryan's deep voice went up a decibel as he bellowed back at me. I squinted at him to try to see what he looked like right now, which was quite a feat since the only source of light was coming from the flashes of thunder crackling and booming outside the window. His messy mop of brown hair was as disheveled as ever and his bangs hung over his wide brown eyes. His clothes were bedraggled and I eyed his now stretched up shirt that had its neckline slipping off one of his shoulder blades.

A corner of my lips curled up into an amused smirk just as his dark scowl deepened. Without caring about the consequences, I snorted and pointed at his pants that were hanging rather dangerously low over his hips. "Dude, you look like you just got raped," I snickered, my smirk stretching into a full-blown grin.

He glared viciously at me as he stalked towards me, even going so far as to stomp his feet at every step he took. "Well you can thank Cece for that," he scowled as he towered over me.

This time, it was my turn to scowl as he practically cornered me against a counter, both of his hands slamming against the counter on both of my sides, effectively caging me between him and the kitchen counter. My eyes narrowed into a fierce glare once I caught sight of his lips twitching into an amused smile. I poked him harshly in the middle of the chest which made him wince. "Hey! Personal space here buddy! Back off, _now_ , or you're not getting any breakfast!"

Ryan stared at me lazily, his six foot something stature towering over my five foot four. "You're not gonna feed me either ways," he bluntly stated, even going so far as to lean his face closer to mine.

Almost immediately, I slammed my open palm against his forehead, my nose scrunching up in disgust. "Ew, Ray! At least brush your teeth first before you try acting sexy! It's a major turn off to a girl if the guy who's flirting with her has dragon breath! Sheesh, you don't even _deserve_ a two!" I reprimanded him, successfully pushing him away from me.

This was something normal between me and my two best friends. We had this sort of game going on every week where one of us would try to act all sexy and flirty and the victim/s would rate how hot it was. Whoever got the lowest score by the end of the week would treat the winners to milkshakes. Ciara was currently in the lead, having had enough experience with past relationships, and I was in second place, what with having enough time to read _a lot_ of fan fiction (wink wink), which always left Ryan in third place, the poor unlucky bastard.

"I don't know, Megs, that _was_ pretty hot," I heard a female voice piped up, and me and Ryan turned our heads to face our other best friend. Standing in the doorway with a hand placed on her cocked hip, Ciara regarded the two of us with a perverted cheshire grin, her blond hair and clothes just as disheveled as Ryan's were, but she was now sporting a nice swelling bruise on her cheek.

I frowned at her. "It _was,_ until Mr. Skunky here opened his mouth," I grimaced before turning back to Ryan, "And if you're gonna corner a girl like that, _at least_ look like you're interested, not bored out of your fragging mind," I advised, flicking my finger against his cheek. "Girls like it when you're looking at them like they're the most beautiful person in the world."

Ryan yelped and immediately placed a hand to nurse his reddened cheek.

Satisfied that I had managed to inflict pain on my male best friend, I turned to Ciara. "What happened to you guys?" I asked innocently, "You only fight after eating, what changed?" I sported my most innocent look.

Ciara's face morphed into a disgusted and irritated glower as she narrowed her eyes at Ryan. "Well, Megs, what would _you_ do if you woke up with your face smack-dab against a guy's crotch? And that guy's face smack-dab against _your_ own crotch?" She sassily crossed her arms, her angry snarl never wavering as she continued to glower darkly at Ryan.

I blinked innocently, _because there was no way in hell I was planning on getting caught!_ , and widened my eyes as much as possible, activating my acting skills to its maximum limit, "You and Ray were in the sixty-nine zone?" I said and slapped a hand against my face to hide the wide, _wide_ grin stretching my lips.

Ryan, still nursing his cheek, glowered right back at Ciara. "How many times do I have to tell you, Cece?! It. Wasn't. Me! And why the hell would I want to stuff my face there?! Of all places?!" He demanded. "It's stinky and god knows how many times you freaking fart in your sleep!"

I cackled loudly with laughter, knowing oh-so well how true THAT was.

Ciara had the right to look offended as she placed a hand on her chest, "Excuse me!" She yelled back, "I'll have you know that it smells better than your dick!"

"And how would _you_ KNOW?!" Ryan demanded seriously, "Have you been stuffing your face in my dick lately?" His face looked so seriously horrified that I had to grab the edges of the countertop to steady myself whilst I laughed myself to death. "I _KNEW_ it!" he exclaimed, his voice sounding as if he'd just discovered another mystery of the world, "You _DO_ have a crush on me!" he dramatically gasped, covering his mouth with his hand.

"WHAT?" Ciara bursted out, eyes widening. "Where the hell-"

"Look," Ryan interrupted her, "I can't blame you for falling in love with me, what with my sinfully gorgeous looks." Here, he turned to me, giving me a wink and smirking devilishly. I cursed him briefly in my mind when my tired panting turned into fits of gleeful giggles once again. He turned back to a red-faced Ciara. "But that doesn't mean you can just molest me in my sleep, woman!" He raged, "I know I'm sexy, and these abs of mine can't be resisted." Here, he lifted up his shirt to show his absolutely abs-less belly.

I snorted in an unladylike way that was sure to give me a spanking from my dead grandmother if she heard me.

"But, alas!" He said dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, "I'm just not interested in-" Before he could continue his speech, an enraged Ciara had tackled him to the floor with an indignant screech.

I yelped and jumped onto the countertop, narrowly missing Ryan's hand attempting to grab my shirt in an effort to pull me down along with them. I stuck my tongue out at him once he shot me a betrayed look, the word _'TRAITOR!_ ' practically written on his face.

I watched them brawl it out for a few minutes, my mind made up that Ciara would definitely win for sure this time. She had just gotten her nails done the other day, making sure they were extra sharp and painted midnight blue, and with that kind of lethal weapon, I was entirely sure she would leave terrible marks on Ryan's face, his biggest weakness.

My attention was ripped away from my two best friends once I felt something pawing on my arm. Tearing my gaze away from the fight on my kitchen tiles, I glanced down at Abyss who had jumped back on top of the counter like the rebellious feline I had raised her to be. I stared down at her and she stared right back at me, her bluish-green eyes looking even larger than before as she mewled at me.

I continued to stare down at her, trying my best to wonder just what she wanted now. And then something clicked in my head once Abyss began pawing at my stomach, mewling rather loudly, and I immediately remembered the reason why I even called Ryan to get his ass in the kitchen in the first place.

I gave Abyss an apologetic look. "Sorry, baby kitty," I cooed, rubbing her right ear, but she didn't rub back which meant that she was extra pissy with me right now for not feeding her immediately. "I'll get your tuna right away, just give me a minute," I patted her head once again, and sulkily noted that she pressed her ears back and didn't mewl back at me.

Yep. Kitty was definitely pissed at me.

Sighing loudly, I pushed myself off the counter and landed right on top of Ciara's back, who in turn was right on top of Ryan and was currently scratching his face like there was no tomorrow and screaming like a banshee. My blonde headed best friend gave an alarmed squawk once she noticed the unexpected weight that had landed on top of her back and immediately collapsed on Ryan who gave a pained groan.

"H-HEY!" Ciara squeaked, tilting her head back to give me a panicked expression. "Ow! You're stepping on a bruise there!" she complained, narrowing her green eyes at me.

"Just give me a minute!" I told her as I tried to find my sense of balance on top of her.

"Well hurry it up!" Ryan snapped. "You're not the one underneath two people who're as heavy as cows!"

I ignored him, but that didn't mean I wasn't pleased by the pained groan he gave once Ciara slapped him silly on the head, and began stepping on the tip of my toes (bless you dancing classes) as I struggled to reach the can of tuna just mocking my height. The tips of my fingers brushed the top, and I tipped the entire can so that it would land right on the palm of my waiting palm.

I grinned triumphantly as I held the can in one hand, and gleefully showed it to Abyss. "Look, Abyss! Food!" I cheered. The dark-furred feline mewled back and pawed the can, knowing that it was food, and the good kind as well.

"Great, you got the can, could you, by any chance, GET. THE. HELL. OFF?" Ryan snarled at me.

I ignored him and hopped off of Ciara, who puffed out a relieved sigh along with Ryan. I went around the counter and pulled open a drawer that held several plastic dining ware. I began rummaging around for a dish bowl just as Ciara and Ryan got off the ground, fully irked with my little stunt a while ago, but I knew they wouldn't dare do anything to me unless they wanted to be kicked out of their only shelter right now and into the thunderstorm.

"Geez, ya didn't have do that to me, ya know?" Ciara moaned as she rubbed her throbbing back. "Now I'm gonna have to sleep on my side for _days_ ," she whined.

I pulled one of my hands out from the drawer and patted her head. "Sorry, Cece," I apologised before stuffing my hand back in the drawer. Sheesh, my mom sure did have a lot of crap in here. After a few more beats of silence, I had managed to successfully pull out a neon blue plastic dish bowl. I placed the bowl on the counter and turned to my tallest friend.

Looking up at Ryan, I presented the tuna can to him with both of my hands. "Open." A beat later, "Please?"

Ryan stared blankly at the can on my hand before he sighed and accepted it. I beamed brightly at him as he shook his head. "You better feed me for this," he warned.

I nodded amiably at him before I pulled out a neon pink plastic spoon from out of the same drawer. I turned to Ciara who already had one of her hands opened out. I smiled brightly at her and placed the spoon in her hand. "You know what to do!" I chirped.

She gave me a deadpanned expression. "Yeah, or else you won't feed me anything," she grumbled. I smiled knowingly at her reaction and slammed the drawer shut, making Abyss jump in surprise and let out a hiss at me.

I gave her an apologetic pat on the head before I began scavenging for food once again in the emergency cupboard to feed my ever hungry friends.

Once I'd found a large tin can of vienna sausage, I easily peeled back the top and shoved all of its contents into a large bowl. After draining the oily liquid that came along with it, I began mashing all of the vienna sausages into mush with a silver spoon so that I could use it as a spreading for the bread. After that, I grabbed the bowl of mushed meat as well as a plastic covered loaf of bread.

"Hey, could you-" I stopped and nearly jumped a foot above the ground, heart in my throat once I noticed that both of my friends were watching me with puckered lips. I balanced the bowl next to my hip and placed a single hand on my chest. "Fraggit, don't scare me like that!" I hissed, "You almost gave me a spark attack!"

Both of them cracked up at my reaction and I exasperatedly rolled my eyes at them. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, just laugh it all up," I scoffed and slammed the bowl in front of Ciara. "Here, bring these up to my room while I go grab some mangoes," I commanded as I shoved the bread into Ryan's chest.

The two of them adjusted their assigned food closer to their chests with one hand before they saluted me sharply with the other. "Ma'am, yes ma'am!" They said loudly, bringing up their best poker face. I rolled my eyes at the two, but nevertheless I played along and lazily returned their salute with my own two-fingered one.

Almost immediately, their lips stretched into their signature twin wolfish grins that had never failed to bring a light and warm feeling to my chest. They gave me a brief nod before they darted out of the room, Ciara whooping out loud that they had finally managed to acquire their 'precious.'

I smiled fondly at the doorway before I peeked over the counter where Abyss was currently devouring her delicious breakfast on the other side. I nodded my head, pleased to see that my baby kitty wasn't vomiting anything up and was instead enjoying her meal to the fullest. I pushed myself away from the counter and turned to the refrigerator which was at the other side of the room.

Once I made my way to it, I eagerly opened it, shivering lightly once the cool air from the deactivated machine slammed right into my face. I quickly gathered up my frozen mangoes from the freezer area, knowing that I had to act fast unless I wanted all the leftover cold from the refrigerator to come out. I didn't want my mom to come home to a ref filled with spoiled food, after all.

After slamming the door shut, I began placing my mangoes in a large bowl, not even bothering to bring a knife since I could always use my teeth to peel off the skin.

I hummed a merry tune once I left the kitchen with a skip in my steps.

After all, I couldn't wait to devour _my_ precious.

* * *

Before we decided to ravage our selected food, Ciara had recommended that we watch a movie while we were eating. The plan was brilliant, and me and Ryan would have agreed with her, if not for one obvious reason.

The electricity was out. Which meant no power. Which meant no T.V. and DVD. Which definitely meant no movie.

Once me and Ryan had deadpanned this to her, Ciara simply rolled her eyes and pulled out a laptop from underneath my bed. I stared at it in cluelessness before I remembered that she had brought her laptop over so that she could work on some reports that our Science teacher had assigned to her. Because, surprise surprise, despite Ciara's wild, flirtatious and quick-tempered personality that could rival the school's head cheerleader's persona, my best friend was a very serious and responsible student. Even though we were at the same age, she had been moved a grade up and was currently holding the title of top student in her year. She was a great student: her homeworks would always be complete, her test papers would always be marked with a red A, and her shelf was filled to the brim with shiny trophies and medals that she'd won in her younger years.

But despite her impressive achievements that would merit her some bullying from the other students and the adoration of the faculty staff, what she had received was the _exact_ opposite because of one little detail. She was the bane of every single teacher's life, and every student in Blue Keys High knew to watch out for her, and for only one reason alone. And what may that reason be you ask?

It's because when I say Ciara was a pretty crazy girl, _I meant it_. She'd be the animal you'd spot in parties, the one you'd see in the corridors bitching back at the cheerleaders, the one who'd get caught in the middle of class talking and making perverted innuendoes, the one who'd have the balls to stand up to the teacher, the one who could ramble on and on about one theory for _hours_ , the one who could prank the entire football team and not be afraid to admit it and get beaten up, and practically the only one who'd be starting up fights that couldn't even be handled.

And when I say fights that couldn't be handled, I meant that too. Because despite her fierce personality, she was still another one of those geeky nerds who knew squat about fighting. Heck, she couldn't even throw a punch just to save her life! Which is why she had best friends—AKA Ryan and I, AKA the 'Reinforcements', AKA the 'Bitch, back up, we'll be the one throwing the punches here' duo—to protect her, and Ryan and I didn't mind it one bit since we all knew if one of us we're in the same situation as her she would do the same for us in the matter of a heartbeat, even if _she'd_ be the one to get beaten up in the end. However, even if she couldn't fight just to save her life, break or crack even one of her nails, then we'll see who's running for their lives now because apparently her nails were much more important than her life.

Maybe that was one of the reasons I liked Ciara now. Because even though she was an arrogant, annoying, perverted and talkative bitch, she wouldn't leave her friends for anything.

...

I _think_. I'm not so sure, what with the countless of times she'd left me in the mercy of angry teachers once our pranks worked. And that time she ditched me at the mall to chase after some boys. _And_ that time she ratted me out to my mom in exchange for a fragging pair of heels

... Maybe I'll ask her one day if she really would, because I'm really not sure. (O-O)

Anyways, back to the present. Once Ryan and I had gotten over staring at her laptop like we'd never seen one before, Ryan had looked up at Ciara and he, being such the sarcastic smartass I knew and trolled, said

"Oh? So you brought a laptop, huh? Well, ain't _that_ great, because seriously, this isn't any better. There's no electricity, Ciara. And when there's no electricity, there's no freaking wi-fi, so how the hell are we gonna watch movies now, huh?"

Ciara, my fellow-troller of one Ryan Quinns, merely smiled the best shit-eating grin I'd ever seen. "I downloaded some movies last week since I thought something like this might happen," she said, pointing at the dark lightbulb above us.

I immediately straightened my back and beamed brightly, "Any Transformers movies?"

She feigned a pained expression. "Now what kind of Trans-fan would I be if I didn't?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Fangirls."

Ciara and I gave him the most innocent look we could muster. "And? It's not like you _don't_ like it either."

He merely sighed and shook his head, already used to us. "Whatever. Just play the damn movie already, I'm starving!" He shooed as both as he ripped open the plastic bag that held the bread.

Ciara and I exchanged triumphant smirks, and not a minute later we were all positioned near the bed, munching on our food, and watching the first minute of the 2007 Transformers movie

* * *

 _"That practically makes us family. Uncle Bobby B, baby, uncle Bobby B!"_

"See that smile? That's the, 'I'mma get all yo money, then rape you, then stuff them dollars up yo ass,' smile. So if you see it on any human being, male or female, black or white, you better fucking run girls."

"Yes, mommy Ray."

 _"S-S-S-St-Stuuupid H-H-Humaaans!"_

"Woo-hoo! Go Frenzy! Make that computer your bitch!"

 _"Are_ you _on drugs?_ "

"Yes. He definitely is."

 _"Are you LadiesMan217?!"_

"Introducing Barricade! The naughty cop of the Decepticon army!"

 _"The boy's pheromone levels suggests he wants to mate with the female."_

"See? This is why Ratchet is so fragging _awesome_."

 _"Were...Were you masturbating?"_

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

 _"But what about 'Bee, Prime?"_

"YEAH, Optimus, what _about_ 'Bee?"

"Shut it, Meg."

 _"AWHIIIIIEEEE!"_

"Fucking Simmons, killing off sparklings. I should go report his aft to Optimus."

 _"I. AM. MEGATRON!"_

"Never fails to amaze the crap outta me."

 _"No! I want two!"_

"Megatron, you aft."

 _"I smell you boy!"_

"...That's just fucking creepy. What the hell are you now? A bloody bloodhound?"

 _"I wish to stay with the boy."_

"AWWWWWW"

*snort* " _Girls_ "

* * *

We watched the ending scene where Sam and Mikaela were making out on Bumblebee's hood near the edge of the cliff together with the other Autobots and the Lennox family close by. Ciara and I watched in full concentration as Optimus appeared on the screen.

 _"I,"_ the leader began dramatically, _"am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any Autobots taking refuge amongst the stars: We are here. We are waiting."_

Once he'd finished his ending speech, I'd stood up from my seat on the floor and strolled over to my personal bathroom, twisting the doorknob open with my elbows since my hands were coated with thick, sticky, mango juice. The moment I stepped in, I heard Linkin Park's _'What I've Done'_ get cut off in the middle which meant that Ciara had already closed the movie and was now scrolling down her movie folder to search for the next one.

"Hey, guys." I heard Ryan call, and I leaned my head back to peek at him through the doorway as I began washing my hands; Ciara having had already turned her head to give him a raised eyebrow.

"What?" The two of us said.

"Don't you guys, I don't know, just wonder?" He said, his brown eyes fixated on the glow in the dark stars that we had slammed into my ceiling a couple of years ago.

Ciara and I exchanged bemused looks before looking back at Ryan's face. "About-" Ciara started. "-what?" I ended.

Ryan blinked before he furrowed his eyebrows. Turning his head to give me and Ciara a vicious glare, he said, "Would you stop doing that? It's kinda creeping me out, and it's starting to get really annoying," he frowned grimly at us.

Ciara and I grinned back at him, albeit ours was much brighter and better looking than his. "Which is why we do it!" The two of us chimed making Ryan grab a pair of pillows from the bed and chuck them at both of his harassers.

Out of pure instinct, I released an 'eep!' and ducked down, easily missing the swift projectile that had been aimed for my face; Ciara, however, had failed to move faster since she was much nearer to our brunette friend and had gotten a face full of pillow.

"My friends," Ryan started dramatically, even going so far as to pause for a moment, "are bastards."

"Sorry!" I chirped as Ciara ripped the soft object off of her face. "But it came with the job description!" I smiled goofily at Ryan as he huffed and exasperatingly rolled his eyes at me.

"Figures," he rumbled as he easily caught the pillow that Ciara had chucked back at him with one hand. He gave Ciara an unamused look before he wrapped his arms around the pillow and gave it a warm squeeze. "But I'm being serious here guys," he said, voice getting softer as he lifted his feet off of the ground and promptly propped them on the top of my bed. "Don't you guys think about it?" he asked as he looked back up at the ceiling with an indescribable emotion swirling in his brown eyes. "Being in the Transformers universe, I mean," he quickly added once he saw me and Ciara exchange devious looks.

I blinked, thoroughly surprised by the unexpected question that came from Ryan of all people. Usually, it would be Ciara who would be asking this sort of question, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious to know why Ryan had even bothered to ask. He just wasn't the type to care about things like that, because if it happened then it happened; he was never one to wonder what would things be like if something else had happened—because that was supposed to be in Ciara's category.

"What brought this up?" I questioned, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

Ryan turned his head to face me, his brown eyes flashing once the thunder outside crackled and illuminated a light through my bedroom window. "Aren't you, I don't know, _bored_?" he asked, glancing at Ciara so that she would know he was asking her as well. "Aren't you tired of living a normal life like this? Don't you imagine yourself being a part of a world like...like in Transformers?" he murmured.

Ciara cracked a grin as she said jokingly, "What? Me and Megs here not giving you enough adrenaline everyday?"

Ryan didn't smirk nor did he smile a little, instead his lips twitched into a frown as he sighed. "It's not that, it's just...when I saw Sam running away from Megatron, I thought what would it be like if _I_ had been the one running from Megatron?"

"You'd piss your pants along the way," I immediately retorted. Ryan sent me a half-hearted glare, but everyone in this room knew he so _would_.

"Haha, _very_ funny Meg. But jokes aside, I'm being serious here, what would you do if you were suddenly in...there?"

Almost immediately, an answer popped up in my mind—one that I had been completely sure of ever since I had started reading the fanfictions regarding Ryan's question. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I hesitated if whether or not I should answer the question, because if I did answer it truthfully then I was completely sure both Ryan and Ciara would take offense from it; Ciara, however, was currently pondering for her answer as Ryan stared at the two of us with an imquisitve expression

The silence the occupied us was eerie. It was unwelcoming. Irritating. Suffocating. And I didn't like it one bit. Shifting a bit on my feet, I opened my mouth to finally say something.

"And what would you do, huh?"

Almost immediately, Ryan and Ciara snapped their gazes to me, and I met their gazes steadily. I had no reason to be scared of their heavy gazes, having known them for so long, and having shared a familiar pain with them.

Tilting his head, Ryan answered immediately. "Well," he drawled thoughtfully, "I wouldn't want to be human again, because this is the Transformers universe we're talking about here. I'd try to find a way to become a Transformer, one with a fucking badass bipedal and alt mode, maybe a flier type," he mused. "But being a grounder's fine with me too, as long as I get the 2016 Acura NSX as my alt mode," he added, leering.

"Dude has plans," Ciara snorted.

Ryan peacefully ignored her as he carried on. "And then after that, I'd probably join one of the sides...maybe the Autobots, since they have a few femmes and mechs with them that I'd _love_ to tap."

I shoved two fingers into my mouth and released a rather loud wolf whistle. In response to my playfulness, Ryan flirtatiously winked at me and grinned a perverted grin.

"And also," he continued, "I'd like to meet Optimus Prime one day, because c'mon! Who doesn't?" He gave both me and Ciara inquiring looks before he continued, "... Or maybe I'd join the Decepticons instead, since they seem much more badass and they'd always get away with stealing or destroying stuff," he shrugged, uncaring. "Or maybe I'd stay a neutral for the rest of my life, hunting down mechs from both sides or just messing with them until they finally had enough of me and joined forces to kill me," he smirked devilishly.

Ciara butted in. "Wouldn't _that_ be a wonderful way to end the war. Both sides joining forces to hunt down the biggest pain in their aft, hah!" she laughed. "I can just see it now! Ryan Quinns, most annoying mech to have ever onlined, and the sole reason why the bots and cons reunited and ended war to hunt down the biggest menace," she cackled wildly.

Ryan nodded, his brown eyes flashing as he grinned evilly. "That has a nice ring to it...but I'd like to change my name into something more Cybteronian-ish," he shrugged, "Because it'd be weird if a Transformer has a name that's normal by human standards."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to think about that," I said as I walked over to him and ruffled his hair, making sure to dry my wet hands into his messy locks. Annoyed with his hair getting wet, he swatted my hands away and made a move to grab me by the ankle. Out of pure reflex, I hopped away from him and moved over to sit beside Ciara, leaning my back against her shoulder. "If it ever happens," I added, smiling wickedly at the rude hand gesture he made for me.

"Give him a break, Megs," Ciara reprimanded me as she threaded her fingers through my messy brown hair. I winced every time she came across a knot and kept combing through it, uncaring if she ripped what felt like a hundred strands of hair out, but I eventually settled down once her fingers made its way to my scalp.

I snorted quietly, lowering my eyelids a little as I relaxed against Ciara, loving every second she wasted on massaging my scalp this time. Lazily looking up at her, I asked, "Hm? Then how about you? What would _you_ do if you were suddenly shoved into the Transformers universe?"

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing a little to show she was strongly pondering over the question. Finally, her eyes cleared up from its misty haze and she inclined her head towards Ryan. "Same as him," she shrugged. "I'd find a way to become a Transformer too, but I'd like my form to be sleek and sexy," she said, smirking, as she winked sultrily at me. "After all, I can't attract a mech without looking the part, ne?"

I cracked a smile at her. Typical Ciara.

"And I'd definitely want to be a flier," she continued. "The F-22's a good choice, but the F-16 is something I'd love to transform into." Here, she grinned evilly. "Imagine the utter chaos and destruction I'd create if I had it as my alt. mode! I'd be bombing cities anytime of the day, and if someone tries to shoot me down I can just shoot them back with my missiles or fly my way out of there with my superior negative stability!" she cackled.

"How very Decepticon of you, Cece," Ryan remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Ciara leered at him, "Of course, Ray. I'd _have_ to be if I want to be one of them. After all, if I'm gonna become a flier, might as well be one of the best, ne?" She grinned. "And which side has the best of the best fliers? Well, the 'cons, obviously, and I like the title 'Seeker' better than simple 'Flier' right next to my name," she added, shrugging.

Ryan snorted loudly. "Or it's because you just have the fucking hots for Starscream."

Ciara furrowed her eyebrows, looking incredibly indignant. "What? Primus, what the _slag_? Why do you always assume I want to frag Starscream silly?"

"Oh, maybe it's, I don't know, because of the fact that you have a freaking shrine of him in your closet?" he replied dryly.

Ciara pursed her lips before she mumbled lowly, "It's not _just_ for Starscream..."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, I forgot, it's for the entire freaking elite trine," he sarcastically retorted.

"Not to mention for Wheeljack, Shockwave, Perceptor, Soundwave _and_ Skyfire as well," I chirped.

Ryan paused, looking momentarily surprised, before he snapped his head so fast to look at Ciara that he could have gotten whiplash. Amazingly, he did not. "What?" he voiced, looking incredulous. "You have a freaking shrine of _Soundwave_ , as well?!"

Ciara sighed, "Well, it's more like I made it to appease Megs here."

"Damn straight you did. Soundwave is one awesome glitch, and anybody who thinks otherwise should go die in a hole," I nodded, completely convinced. Because Soundwave deserved to be worshipped, dammit.

Ryan turned to me, his nose scrunched up in disgust. " _You_ should go die in a hole. Soundwave is one creepy fucker," he grimaced. "He keeps speaking in that creepy computer-ish voice of his. And did you even _see_ him in the movies? Him practically molesting that poor satellite? Him having goddamn _tentacles_?!" he demanded, voice hiking up to a screechy point. "I've seen enough hentai to know where the hell that is going!"

I recoiled away from Ciara, which earned me a sharp yank from the hair since she had her fingers entangled in them. "Ow!" I winced, and gave her a sharp look, to which she responded with a shrug, before I turned to shoot Ryan a nasty glare. "You take that back this instance, Ryan Quinns. Soundwave's voice is awesome, and how dare you disgrace it!" I hissed.

"Or what, Meg Malstrom," he mocked.

"Or I'll rip your balls off, shove them up your freaking ass so far up that it'll be the only thing you'll taste until you die," I started, " _Then_ I'll chop your hand off and make you shit your balls and crap out in that hand and use that hand to slap all of that in your face. _Then_ I'll rip your dick out to stab you in the eyes until you go blind then stuff that dick up your ass and shove it in and out over and over again until you bleed to death from the ass," I finished.

Ryan didn't even blink at my graphic description of his murder, and he looked bored as he lifted an eyebrow at me as if asking me if that was all I could come up with.

There was a pregnant pause that followed afterwards.

Surprisingly, it was Ciara who first broke it.

"Why shove his balls up his ass?" She looked confused. "Couldn't you just use them to choke him to death?"

"Because then she wouldn't have enough curse words to use," Ryan explained, glancing at her. "When you're relaying a threat, you need to add a lot of curse words to make it seem threatening."

"I already knew that," Ciara snapped at him, "But it seems much more threatening and insulting if she chokes you with your balls, because then it would be like she was forcing you to deep-throat yourself."

Ryan flinched whereas I grinned. "Sweet Jesus, I did _not_ need that mental image," he shuddered. After a moment, he turned to me, looking quite smug, "And is that the best you've got?"

I decided to bring out my wild card.

"I'll sick your cousin on you."

He furrowed his eyebrows and suspiciously asked me, "Which cousin?"

"You're twice-removed cousin. The one we met a year ago. You know, the one who had purple hair."

A look of pure terror and fear contorted his features, and I almost cracked up once I saw it. "You _**wouldn't**_."

"Oh, I would. I _really_ would," I grinned viciously.

"You're _sick_. You're a sick, sick bitch, you know that?"

"Yes, this is the nth time you've told me that and I appreciate the compliment, so can you take your words back now or do I have to give Tihana a call after this storm's out."

He continued to glare at me for a few more minutes before he finally relented and ate his own words back. By the time he was done talking, he looked utterly humiliated and angry with me.

"I bet you'd go hunt Soundwave down and force him to give you his babies if you were ever placed in their universe," He grumbled.

To be honest, what made me say the words I'd say next was the complete product of my stupidity. All 100% of it in fact. I wasn't thinking straight, nor was I logically stable, what with how smug I was with my victory on out-scaring Ryan; so when my mouth opened before my brain could comprehend the words that came out of my throat, I instantly regretted it the moment after I realised what I'd done.

"Then it's a good thing I don't even want to go there."

"We-" Whatever Ryan was going to stay died somewhere in the back of his throat as his eyes widened tremendously and he stared at me, slack jawed. Ciara wasn't so far from looking like a fish too as she stared at me as well.

I snapped my mouth shut tightly and flushed underneath their intense gazes, because _whew!_ Did the temperature just get hotter in here or something? I leaned away from Ciara and scooted a few feet away from her, because once my two best friends were done gawking at me like rabid squirrels then I knew, for sure, that Ciara would be the first one to strike.

Physically.

To my utter relief, surprise, and bewilderment, all Ciara did was say, "What?" while still supporting the most hilarious expression I could have ever seen on her face.

I knew that I couldn't just eat my words back and lie my way through or pretend that I hadn't said what I truly said, because if I did any of those aforementioned options then they would know for sure that I had been lying not even a second after. We hadn't been friends for more than ten years for nothing after all. We knew each other as well as we knew the back of our hands. Joined at the hips, our parents would laugh about. Could never be separated; Always found with at least one other by their side; Always there, laughing and crying and fighting until it was time to go home kicking and screaming.

And if they _did_ find out that I was lying, well, it wouldn't be pretty, that was for sure, but all I can tell you is that it involves me, them, the bed, and jumping rope (or, if they couldn't find one, they'd use the pillow covers. They were _that_ resourceful).

And no, we weren't gonna enact a scene from Fifty Shades of Grey, so get over yourselves, you perverts.

And so, with me fearing of the horrifying consequences of lying, I told them the truth.

"I don't want to go there," I summarised, and waited for the gears in their head to process my words.

It hadn't even been a full minute yet when one of my best friends reacted, and I blinked in surprise once I heard Ciara calmly ask me, with a face that could rival steel, what had I meant.

"What?" This time, it was my turn to look like a drowning goldfish.

Ciara pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest, her brown eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating look that was only reserved for when she was staring at something that didn't make sense. "What do you mean," she emphasised each word slowly as if she was talking to a toddler, "When you said that you didn't want to go there?"

"You're not going to attack me?" I reluctantly asked, because for all I knew she might just be a few seconds away from doing so.

She sent me an unamused look. "I don't want a bruise on my other cheek, Meg. One's enough," she snorted and shot Ryan a dark glare to which he responded by raising his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

I couldn't stop the small, amused smile from playing on my lips.

After she was done glowering at Ryan, she returned her heated glare to me. Unconsciously, I gulped and tried to imagine myself being five inches tall so that I could bury myself underneath my bed. "Let me repeat my question, _again_ ," she added darkly and I cringed guiltily. "What. Do. You. Mean. By. That," She emphasised slowly.

I should have slapped her for treating me like a two year old child but I let the opportunity pass considering my current situation. _For now_.

I pursed my lips, weighing and outweighing the pros and cons of my answer, before I sighed dejectedly. "Exactly what it meant," I answered carefully.

I felt a hand clamp itself down on my shoulder and I snapped my gaze from Ciara to the pair of brown eyes that belonged to Ryan (and I vaguely wondered how the hell did he get from there to here so fast). He squeezed my shoulder and I tensed up, because that squeeze wasn't a good kind of squeeze judging by the dull pain that shot up from there.

He scrutinized me with narrowed eyes, using his other hand to pinch and pull on my cheek. If you thought I would let him slide by like with what I did with Ciara, then you're sadly mistaken because there's a thick, _thick_ wall between words and touching.

I slapped his hand away and gave him my best annoyed look. "Dude, what the hell?"

He regarded me impassively and I couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous, because a Ryan with a poker-face was worse than an emotional or bored Ryan. That face meant serious business. And serious business meant no shit were to be taken lightly. "Out of the three of us in this room," he started, his tone of that of a drawl. "I had absolutely expected you to love the idea of being in the Transformers universe. You were obsessed with that crap ever since we were kids, and you were even the one who converted me and Cece into Trans-fans, and all of a sudden I'm hearing from you, Blue Key's resident Trans-fangirl to the geeky max, that you don't even want to go there?" His voice was cool and dangerously close to having an icy edge, and I flinched and avoided his uncomfortable gaze, feeling... what? Shame? Embarrassment? I didn't know. "You..." At that pause, he grabbed my chin and tipped it upward so that I was looking straight at him. "Who _are_ you? Because the Meg Malstrom that I knew _loved_ Transformers with everything she had and she would _never_ say those kind of words." And just like that, he released my chin.

I didn't bother reprimanding him this time for manhandling me in such a way, because the words he'd just said made my heart clench so painfully that I'd been rendered speechless. Not a single train of thought entered my mind aside from Ryan's words that rang so painfully loud in my head just like a haunting mantra.

If somebody else had told me those exact words, I wouldn't feel this affected since I would be too busy insulting them back until they cried or calling up Ryan to help me beat the shit out of the bastard who had dared to act as if they knew me. Problem is, this wasn't somebody else. This was _Ryan_. Ryan my bi buddy. Ryan my best friend. Ryan my brother from another mother.

And it _hurt_ to hear those words from him. Because he wasn't just somebody else who acted as if they knew me, Ryan _really_ knew me. And him saying those kind of words to me made me feel as if he'd just punched me. Straight through my heart.

I curled my hands into fists, making sure that my nails dug painfully into the skin of my palms. The muscles in my jaw constricted and I forced my eyes into an angry glare blurred by tears. "Then maybe you don't know me!" I snapped, slapping his hand on my shoulder away. "Maybe you never knew me!" I screamed and out of a fit of pure utter rage, I shoved him away from me.

"Meg!" Ciara had snapped and before I knew it, she was right beside me with one of her hands clenched tightly on my upper arm.

I didn't even notice the warning look she had sent me, my attention focused solely on the startled boy whose face depicted surprise. "Because the world you want to go to is a place I would _never_ want to be in!" I snarled. "Because only a fucking idiot would ever want to be in a world filled with wars after wars!" I threw my hands up to show how frustrated I was. "Because isn't **_that_** what Transformers is all about?! The war between the Autobots and the Decepticons being brought to Earth so that even more people can throw themselves into it and lose their lives?!" I stopped screaming after that, instead resorting to silently pressing my lips together into a tight grim line.

Ryan stared at me, his mouth agape; I turned my head to look at Ciara and saw that she had her lips pursed into a tight line like mine.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, slowly counting to ten in my mind, before I exhaled loudly. I gently pried Ciara's fingers off of my arm and rolled my shoulders backwards a few times to unwind myself.

I eyed Ryan for a few seconds, silently debating if whether or not I should sock him in the eye while he was still stunned, before I decided against it. Despite it being an instant stress reliever, rendering Ryan blind in the right eye would only complicate things even further.

And plus, aunt Shirlee, Ryan's mother, would stop making me stuff toys if I did so. The woman could make a mean Prowl puggleformer in the matter of a couple of minutes, provided she had the right materials around her.

I sighed for the umpteenth time today, my eyes straying to my toes that had been painted a dark shade of blue green since last week, with some of the paint having been chipped off from having stabbed my toe into the door for who knows how many god-forsaken times.

Reluctantly, I opened my mouth, hoping that my words would be enough to erase the eerie silence. "I want you to ask yourself this. The both of you," I said quietly, my whispered words sounding even louder than the thunder outside. "Are you ready to lose another person important to you?" I ripped my gaze away from my toes and stared at Ciara then Ryan and back again. "Are you _really_ ready to have someone who you've known for how many years, who you've held close to the heart, just _die_?" I drew my eyebrows together. "Because if you _do_ go to their world, I want you to remember that the people there aren't just comic book or movie characters who you've grown to love, admire or maybe even hate anymore. They're real _live_ people who you've come to love, admire or hate and aren't any less real than we are right now. They aren't just characters anymore that live in films or books, but people who are _actually_ affected with what we plan to do around them." I paused, and solemnly closed my eyes. "And sure it's fun to watch it from an _outside_ perspective because you know that none of it is actually real and it's just a story made purely to entertain us, but when you're actually _in_ it then you know everything that will happen is as real as real can get and you'll realise soon enough that all of it is not as fun as you think it will be." I paused to gauge their reactions. So far, both them had gone neutral. "And that none of them are immortal, and will eventually die just like-" I stopped there, because I didn't have a name to use even if there was several of them that flashed through my mind. My heart squeezed at that thought.

I know I shouldn't be thinking like this, because no matter what Trasnformers will still be what it had been born for. A simple story to entertain us human beings. And the idea of some omnipotent being out there choosing us out of the bazillion people out there to go to the Transformers universe to save the fate of the universe, or a simple chance of ridiculous luck that some space rift thingy would suddenly open up and engulf us and just magically spit us out in the Transformers universe, sounded pretty stupid and insane to me. Because, really? Who the hell would expect that on their agenda of the day?

However, despite my knowledge that none of it was and _could_ be real, I still couldn't shake that tiny, _tiny_ detail that there was a possibility (of .00000000001%) that it _could_ happen. And to be transported into some world with what little knowledge I could garner from the fandom and series itself, sounded pretty terrifying to me. Because if it did happen, then didn't that mean you basically had the power to _change_ things? To change destiny?

Even the lone thought of me possessing that kind of knowledge that could simply undo whatever event I deemed as wrong, unnerved me a little and I didn't like it one bit. Why? Because, let's say, I decided to save Jazz from the movie, what would the consequences be? Would another bot die? Or would several, if not hundreds, of people (with families who were waiting for them to come home) die if Jazz had not been buying time for them to escape? And what would happen if I decided to not save Jazz? Sure, everything would roll on as expected, but the unending guilt I would feel for not doing something ( _anything_ ) would eat through me for the rest of my life; because I had the knowledge, so why didn't I use it? And even if I _did_ decide to choose one, what were the chances of me royally screwing up? It wasn't like there would be a million chances sitting right there, waiting for me to use them. And-

"You're thinking of our dads... aren't you?"

That short, whispered sentence lingered in the air just as loudly as fireworks exploding in the sky. Both Ryan and I tensed up at the mention of them, and the two of us slowly turned our heads to look at Ciara who, too, had her shoulders as rigid as ours.

It was one of the most sensitive topics the three of us would ever have. Even after six years our dads had kicked the bucket too early, it was kind of a forbidden thing to talk about between the three of us. The emotional scars that had been left, on not just us but on our entire families as well, as an after effect of their deaths were still there, and _I_ knew for sure that they would never leave for as long as we lived.

"Yes," I whispered, wrapping my arms around my knees, as I shuddered violently at the horrible memory of my father's coffin slowly descending into the dark depths of the hole that had been dug up just for him—a loyal and hard-working American soldier that had died in the midst of battle, protecting the evacuating citizens in Libya, only to get a bullet to the head for his hard work; a husband that would never kiss his wife one last time; a father that would never watch his dearly-beloved sons graduate and become soldiers in honour of him (instead of one becoming a pilot and the other a physician just like his mother), or ever see his only daughter quit one of the few things she'd cherished in her entire life and become as much as a soldier as her brothers were now (instead of working to become what she should have been—a dancer that would move her feet for her love of music, and the excitement and awe she'd bring for the crowd.)

It didn't take a long while until the two of them followed my example: bringing their knees closer to their chests, wrapping their arms around them, and burying their heads as close as possible to their thighs.

We stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, curled up into balls, with a suffocating silence over our heads, our minds either as blank as white sheets or filled with thoughts of _why why why?_ , with only the sounds of booming lightning reminding us that this was reality and everything was always unfair.

* * *

After what seemed like forever, one of us finally had enough guts to shove all that angst to the deepest and darkest corner of their mind and lock it in there for a very, _very_ , long time.

Proud to say, that person was _me_.

I didn't bother glancing at the vegetable states my two best friends were in, and crawled my way to Ciara's laptop. I exited the Transformers Movies folder and tapped open the Horror Movies folder. I selected a random one (and cried in my head when I realised it was 'The Shinning') before scooting back to my immobile friends. I gently shook Ciara first, then Ryan.

Almost at the same second, the two popped their heads out, staring at me with blank brown eyes.

I didn't say anything; instead, I grabbed their arms and pulled them as close to me as possible. Once their shoulders bumped against mine, I wrapped my arms around theirs and intertwined my fingers into their unresponding ones. I swivelled my head from side to side to look at them in the eyes, before I gave their hands a firm squeeze—a sign of comfort, a sign of understanding, a silent gesture to them that no mater what I would always be with them.

And they seemed to have heard my unspoken gesture, because they slowly slumped against my shoulders and squeezed my hands back.

We didn't say a single thing as we watched the movie play on the small laptop's screen, but only after a few minutes into the movie did I start to shiver from the cold.

Ryan didn't bother giving me a single glance as he outstretched his long, muscled and naturally tanned arm out to pull off the large comforter off of my bed. Silently, he threw one side of the thick blanket to Ciara; together, they grabbed their end of the blanket with their other free hand and wrapped it around us; securely locking it in place when they intertwined their own hands together and laid them on top of my lap.

I smiled gratefully at them, and leaned my head against Ryan's shoulder since Ciara was doing the same thing to mine.

"Thanks," I murmured softly.

"Sorry." I didn't have to glance up at Ryan to know that was him. "I didn't mean to say any of that."

I watched the attractive woman on screen look around warily, before I responded. "I'm sorry for saying you never knew me." And that was it, because I didn't regret telling them that it was basically stupid to want to go to the Transformers universe.

"I'm sorry for punching you on the cheek earlier, Cece."

"I'm sorry for kicking you in the nuts, Ray."

"I'm sorry for stepping on the both of you."

Then after a moment, together as one, we breathed. "Nah, it's fine."

We watched a few more scenes in total silence and I couldn't help but think how stupid main characters were in horror movies.

Finally, after the lead woman screamed an ear-shattering scream, Ciara curiously turned her brown eyes to me.

"But seriously, Megs. What would you do if you were really in the Transformers universe?" She asked me, and Ryan turned his head away from the movie to glance down at me.

Assholes. The both of them. Asking me the same accursed question while we were watching one of my most scariest movies.

I pursed my lips, debating if whether or not I should just get it over with and answer her question. After a few more seconds of thinking it through, I sighed wearily and nonchalantly shrugged my shoulders.

"I would end the war."

Because that was the main source of where all these deaths were coming from, and if ending the war meant stopping the deaths then that would be the only thing that I would want to do in their world.

Satisfied, my two friends turned back to watch the movies, our hands gripping the other a little tighter than before when the murderer shoved his axe through the door.

As I squeezed my eyes shut and stifled a terrified scream, I didn't bother giving my words another thought, because there was no possible way I would ever be transported to a universe that only existed in fiction. It was just absurd. Illogical. And downright _impossible_.

Unbeknownst to me, that would be the final requirement that would sign my destiny.

* * *

 **Word Count:** _14,628_

 **Time of Finish:** _June 3, 2015_ at _9:35 P.M._

* * *

So, YEAH. That's all for today, people, ahaha. See ya next time, I guess? Oh, and if you want character profiles, just ask me and I'll bring it up on the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by: _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated_ _fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters :** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairings** **:** _Optimus/Elita-One; Ironhide/Chromia; Jazz/Prowl; Sam/Mikaela (indefinite, maybe?) ... for now. Still deciding the rest, opinions and reviews are welcomed to broaden my options._

 **Author's Note:** _Hey, ya'll! (- That, right there, is my crappy Southern accent ehehe). It's nice to see you all again :) To be honest, I'm pretty content with all the favorites and follows and reviews right now, because hey? ANYTHING is better than zero xD. Oh, and play Here's to the Zeros, to all those who fell pretty crappy about themselves 'kay? You're all amazing, I'm serious, so don't freaking change just because others tell you to. Buuut, if you're a total bastard who copy other's stories, go change your disgusting self right this instant. Plagiarism is fucking disgusting and you should be ashamed of_ _yourself for stealing another person's hard work, you dickwad. AAAANYWAYS, just wanted to tell my lovely reviewers how much I love them, and if I could, I would run to your house and give you a biiiig hug and kiss you to death. On the cheek, of course, since my lips are off-limits ;)._

 **Replies to My Lovely Reviewers:**

 _ **SunnySides (Guest):** Hehehe, I'll make you like it even moooore ;P. And yeah! I'll TRY (mwahahaha) to update more :D. Btw, SunnySides, love the name xD  
 **Nobody Special (Guest):** When I read your review, I had to explain to my friends why was I suddenly screaming so loudly in the middle of a park xD I was just so SO happy when I finished reading it, and to be honest, I'm flattered. Honest to Primus flattered that you like my story, and even saying that it had great potential. It was really heart-warming to hear you call this little project a 'precious gem' And yeah! *fist pump* I'll be sure to make this story worthy of becoming one of your 'classics' ;D So expect great things! And I've already read all those fanfictions! Especially J.M. Spellbound's 'What Once Was Lost.' Jynx is adorable and the way her character is improving is just so beautiful to see, and I expect great things for it as well. And I don't mind your English. It's good. And *fist bump* TFP is awesome (but Breeeaaakdoooowwn T_T). *Waves at you while you ride into the sunset with Knockout while wiping tears from eyes* Hope to see you soon N.S. :D  
 **Sarielgrace:** I was able to relate somewhat since one of my cousins in America wants to become in an army, and he's about to be old enough to enlist himself into it. Despite his Filipino heritage, he's an American citizen through and through and he wants to fight for it. I'm also pretty close with him, since we used to play with each other whenever he visited, and I'm kind of worried of the possibilities that could happen to him. So...WA-LA! This is the creation of my paranoidness xD And I'll keep it up, and I want to congratulate you of how strong you are. Having a father that wasn't there most of the time as you grew up is a very hard thing to live with, and I salute you Private!  
 **AyanoZonurai:**_ _Awwww, thanks :) You're making me blush from that, ehehe xD And, well, here's chapter 2! *throws sparkles everywhere*  
 **AkaylaTheWriter:** AWWWWW! You're really making me blush. And another 'jewel' comment! Wow, this is really REALLY encouraging to me you know. And I'm happy you appreciate the emotions I TRIED to play out, a haha. That's usually my weakest point, and my other co-author is the best when it comes to emotions :D So I felt pretty pumped when you pointed that out. GIVE ME A BROFIST! And my characters? Gorgeous? Hehehe, I'm felling pretty flattered right now. I have a friend just like Ryan, so it wasn't hard to copy his personality, but I had to add a little few details to make it kind of unique. And I'm thankful that I'm able to inspire you, Akayla, that's something an author LOVES hearing, you know? Because I got my love of writing from the inspiration I received from my aunt, and now I'm hearing that I'm giving away inspiration? Primus, I can die without regrets now xD  
_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

 _ **In Which Disaster Strikes**_

* * *

 ** _"I would end the war."_**

 _Blazing amber optics stared at the group of tiny, organic beings huddled close to one another, each one of them tightly gripping the other two's hands as if they would fall to their death if they let go for even just a second. A variety of emotions flashed in those large, golden optics as they watched the organic beings scream or yelp after having experienced a rather horrifying scene in the scary film they were watching._

 _The almighty creator of the Transformers race shuttered his optics for a brief moment—and he wondered, why do these humans even partake in such activities that would terrify them so?—before opening them once more. His dermas stretched into a small, amused smile and his optics softened as he gazed at the brown haired human child that couldn't be any older than a seekerlet that was just starting to learn how to hover over the ground._

 _He tilted his large, dark blue helm slightly, a gesture that he would only reserve for when he was displaying fondness for one of his little sparks or for when he was observing one of the biggest conundrums he had ever had the pleasure of discovering._

 _"Would you really," He murmured softly, the engine in his chassis rumbling lowly. "Save my children, little one?"_

 _As expected, he received no reply from one of the humans, because the visual screen he had summoned to watch the lives of random sentient beings through wasn't meant for a two way interaction unlike the communications systems his little sparks had managed to create in order to interact with each other._

 _Primus couldn't help the fond smile that contorted his dermas as he recalled the memories of achievements he'd seen his children accomplish. Each and every one of his little sparks were unique in their own way, and he remembered the times when he would watch one of his Cybertronian-born children either brighten up with pride or grin widely at the little accomplishments they would succeed at, and Primus remembered the times when_ his _own spark would thrum with joy at seeing his little sparks look so_ so _**happy**_.

 _The little smile on Primus's face faltered when he remembered that those were the times back then; before his children's processors were clouded by his brother's hatred, before little_ _Megatron_ _(the once High Lord Protector and brother in everything but energon to the only Prime online right now) became the horrendous warlord he was right now, before the bright new sparks he had created were brutally offlined one by one, before this chaotic war had ever happened._

 _And before his children had started slaying each other: spilling energon of brothers and sisters just for the cause they believed in, dragging in others who would rather run and hide than fight and kill, and_ destroying _everything he had created just for his little sparks._

 _Primus offlined his optics, trying to push away the memory files of his children dying and pleading for_ his _help_ _to the back of his central processor, before he onlined them again. This time, the weariness in them were much more visible than ever._

 _If asked by someone else, Primus would answer that, yes, he was tired. Oh so very tired of the war, of seeing his children suffer and die in vain, and of the incoming danger that would soon destroy all of them if they wouldn't just sit the frag down and talk out their slagging differences._

 _He refocused his attention back on the organic being of the dimension he had miraculously stumbled upon. His dermas twisted into a wry smile as he recalled the knowledge he had gained from this particular dimension. It had seemed, unlike most of the dimensions he had stumbled upon in his voyage to dull the pain in his spark, that he, his brother and the Transformers race were all but a tale to entertain these humans._

 _He chuckled. In this dimension, they were all but characters in a story. And, much to his chagrin, some of the humans in this dimension would even write stories about his children, most of which circling around romance and comedy._

 _Primus had never felt so disturbed and amused at the same time when he had read a story about his chosen Prime and the once High Lord Protector. That was definitely something he would never be able to omit from his core. In fact, he was sure it had been engraved into his spark once he finished reading it._

 _But... he had to give credit to the author. It really_ was _an exceptional and highly amusing story, unusualness aside._

 _Putting that particular thought to the back of his central core, Primus refocused his gaze back on the brown haired human being that was sitting in between her two companions, and his engine rumbled deeply when he recalled the information he had garnered from analyzing her life story._

 _Born as the daughter of a military man and a medic, and the youngest and only female sibling to two brothers, Meg Malcolm had grown up a little differently compared to other human children. As expected from having a creator with a military background and two rambunctious brothers, she had grown up with a wild streak in her and a fondness of (here, Primus chuckled) Transformers and throwing everything her little hands could reach as a sparkling. Her medic bearer had managed to retain some feminine traits in her_ _by enlisting her in dancing classes when she was old enough to run and play in the dirt._

 _It was only after the passing of her sparker that Meg's personality had shifted to a more pessimistic view. She had been diagnosed with a syndrome called Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome or PTSD, and had grown paranoid of every single thing that could be related to death._

 _But what had caught Primus's interest was the way she had regarded his children as if they were more than just the cartoon characters she had grown watching, even if she didn't have the knowledge that_ his _universe was as real as her own, and had seemed to mourn their death like she would for another fellow human being._

 _He had already seen several other human beings who acted in the same way as her, but none had ever been as more_ aware _and_ different _as she had been._

 _There was one little detail that she had in her that made her stand out in the hundreds of thousands of Transformers fans, and Primus_ knew _in that exact moment that she was different._

 _And it was all because she **knew**. Knew of the dangers and the possibilities and the horrifying reality of what could happen if she was in his universe. She had weighed out everything_ _—all the positive and negative points_ _—and she knew that the negativity outweighed the positivity of being in a situation like that by a thousand tons. She was aware of the war, and how hard it could be, and knew how much it pained others when one of his children died._ _She **understood** the consequences of being in his universe, and she had enough sense in her to know that _that _kind of life wasn't for her._

 _Primus remembered that he had stared at the_ _organic being with admiration shinning brightly in his amber optics. It had never really occurred to him that such a tiny being, that couldn't have been any larger than one of his pedes!, could have so much compassion and proficiency stuffed in her._

 _But then the lighter haired female situated to her left had asked the same question, making the darker haired male turn his head and stare down at her. Knowing that she had been trapped into doing nothing else but answer the question, Meg submitted to them and answered, her voice strong and full of resolve._

 _And that was when an idea popped in Primus's helm._

 _His dermas stretched into a_ wicked _grin, one that was much more expected to be on his brother's face plates, and he began plotting._

 _Because if_ he _couldn't interfere with his children's destinies, then why not send someone else to do that instead?_

* * *

After two more trauma-inducing horror movies (with Meg screaming at the top of her lungs to, _"Stop it!"_ ), Frozen (with Ciara cooing over how utterly adorable the gigantic iceman was), and Ted (with Ryan complaining why couldn't _his_ teddy bear come to life), Ciara's laptop had finally shut down just as all three of them had agreed to watch Transformers: RoTF.

So when they were already five minutes into the movie and the portable computer had suddenly shut down without any notification warning; suffice to say, none of them were happy campers. _None of them_.

And after a few minutes of bitching at Ciara's laptop-

( _"Come on, Cece, just_ one _hit. It won't even leave a fucking dent on that useless piece of scrap!"_

 _"No fucking way, Ray! This baby costs more than eight months of my allowance and-!)_

 _"RYAN QUINNS! PUT MY MEGATRON ACTION FIGURE DOWN THIS INSTANT, YOU AFT!)_

-the three of them had managed to recompose themselves and agree on a 'nice' and 'friendly' game of cards.

( _"Looks like I win, Ray. Now, you know the rules. Pants. Off."_

 _"What? B-But how?! There's no fucking way you have_ another _royal flush! That's three times in a row, man! You fucking cheated, you cunt!"_

 _"Hey, Cece, could you help me hold him down? The sore loser doesn't seem to be 'complying' with the rules, and you know what_ that _means!"_

 _"It's Jumping Rope Time~!❤️"_

 _"GOOD LORD! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, YOU SICK FUCKS_ )

In the end, after a couple more plays, with Ryan feeling violated and much more insecure than before, and Ciara and Meg having won just _the_ perfect blackmail material of one Ryan Quinns, the three teenagers had decided to sleep in until the electricity went back on. So therefore, after abandoning the scattered cards in the middle of the room, all three of them had chosen their favourite napping spots and began snoozing away.

* * *

The loud sound of discharging lightning and crackling thunder from outside had jolted her awake from her little snooze after she had eaten the delicious breakfast her mistress had provided her with. It was rare for her to eat tuna now a days, since her mistress's mother would always give her that icky-icky but digestible enough hard food that tasted oddly like a mix of beef, dirty water, and piss.

And she had enough experience to know what urine and dirty water tasted like, after having lived off the streets before her mistress had found her and had taken her in from the ( _scarydarkpainfuldon'tbringmebackthere)_ alleyway near a large playground where young children would usually mess around at.

One of her ears, the one that had a small chunk of it missing at the tip from when she had gotten into a fight with a tabby cat as a kitten, twitched and she huddled closer inside her 'hideout', an area underneath the second lowest step of the stairways. It was tiny and dark and cold, but it was familiar to her—for it made her remember of the times she used to live out in the bloody and miserable streets, where she and her siblings had been abandoned by their mother to fend for themselves with no one to look after them ( _small, tiny kits barely a couple of months old_ ) _._ It reminded her that _she_ , unlike her sister and brothers, had been the only one to survive; to have found a human to take care of her; to have been _lucky_ —and she returned to her hideout every once in a while to sleep in their.

She pressed her ears against her head as another flash of lightning sizzled in the heavens above, and her wide bluish-green eyes stared unblinkingly at the kitchen window that had a perfect view of the outside world from where she was currently residing at.

She mewled, and stood up on her furry paws. The fur on her back straightened up as her whiskers quivered. She sniffed the air. Once, twice, thrice, and a growl rumbled deeply in her chest.

She may not have a nose as sharp as a stupid canine, but she could still smell the pouring rain outside become saltier than last time whenever lightning discharged; her ears twitched, and she warily watched another flash of thunder come closer each time.

Her tail swished slowly from side to side, and she mewled lowly when she could feel the air around her shift once more. She crept out of her little hiding place, and stared at the window one last time, particularly at the dark, grey clouds outside, before turning away and moving towards the stairs.

She could feel it, and she knew that every animal within the vicinity of the town they lived in could feel it as well. Something was going to happen. _Something bad_. And it was getting closer and closer as lighting crackled, and it was getting closer _to her home_.

She climbed up the steps, her feline grace proving to be useful as she skipped a step at a time. Finally, when she was the very top, she looked back down at the bottom of the steps, her long tail twitching.

If something bad was going to happen, then she didn't want to be alone when it happened. She wanted to be with her mistress when it happened, because then, if something happened, they would never be separated.

She turned her head back and scanned the numerous doors scattered about the only hallway on the upper level of the house, and made her way to where her mistress's abode would be at.

She sat back on her haunches and stared up at the closed door, wondering which course of action she should take to open the door. She meowed, and brought up a paw to scratch at the door with her sharp claws.

She received no response after a minute of doing so, but she continued meowing and scratching at the door to capture her mistress's attention.

 _I don't want to be alone_.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the door opened, and she stopped scratching. Sitting back on her rear, she curiously stared up at the human who had opened the door.

It was the boy. The one who smelt like leather, yarn, and burnt wood. The one who used to wrap fluffy blankets around her when she was smaller. The one who always greeted her with a rub on the back. The one her mistress loves.

She mewled, tilting her head, and widening her eyes a bit—her mistress had thought her to act like this when she wanted something. She said that it would make her look adorable and make anyone give her anything she wanted.

And she wanted to see mistress right now.

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you want now?"

She didn't respond, instead going up to his leg and rubbing her slinky body against it. It didn't take too long for the boy to reach down and caress her back, and she purred in delight at the attention she was receiving.

After a minute or two, she pulled away from him. She didn't miss the look of confusion marring his face, and she used it to her advantage to creep into her mistress's room.

"Oh, so you wanted stay here, huh...Well, I don't think Meg'll mind." The boy noted, to which she promptly ignored.

She wanted to be beside mistress right now.

Lifting her head up a bit, she sniffed the air a few more times, trying to locate the source of where her mistress was currently at, and mewled lowly once she found it. Strutting her way across the room and to the bed, she looked up, and blinked when she caught sight of long hair trailing past the edge of the bed. With a lift of her front legs, she placed her paws on the side of the bed and peeked over the edge. The sight that she was rewarded with was the face of a person she wasn't looking for.

It was the girl. The one who smelt like old and crusty paper, perfume, and that weird paint. The one who used to surprise her by jumping around corners when she was smaller. The one who always sneaked in kitty treats whenever nobody was looking. The one her mistress loves as well.

She cocked her head before pushing herself away from the bed. Sitting back down on her haunches, she wondered where could her mistress be. Her scent led to the bed, but all she saw was the girl.

"Are you looking for Meg?"

Turning her head, she stared unblinkingly at the boy who was crouching down behind her. She turned around with a graceful sweep of her tail, and looked up at the boy. She meowed loudly while pressing her ears against her head.

 _Where are you mistress?_

With an amused snort, the boy tucked his thumbs underneath her arms, making sure to wrap his large hands around her to make sure she wouldn't fall. And he should, because if she _did_ fall, she wouldn't hesitate to claw his face off. Pain for pain, as the streets had taught her.

The boy picked her up with no complications, and carefully plopped her on the top of the bed. She meowed, even more confused. Her mistress wasn't on the bed! Why did he place her there?

Just as she was about to jump off the bed, the boy told her in a hushed voice.

"She's right there."

Her ears immediately perked up and her whiskers quivered in excitement. Swiftly, she turned around, and caught sight of her mistress laying down on the bed just behind the girl. She meowed.

 _Mistress!_

Carefully, she prowled through the legs of her mistress and the girl that were tangled with each other. Locating a spot near her mistress's neck, she circled the area a few times before sitting back on her rear and curling up into a furry ball, making sure that she was as close as she could be to her mistress.

Bringing up a furry paw that had its claws retracted back into their rightful hiding place, she rubbed her mistress's soft cheek with it whilst meowing loudly. She wanted to wake her mistress up. She wanted her mistress to know that she was here, right beside her.

Her mistress's closed eyelids crinkled a bit, a sign that she had been disturbed from her sleep, and she waited patiently for her mistress to slowly wake up. First, her mistress moaned lowly in misery, something she always did whenever she woke up; then, she shifted a bit, causing the small space she was in to widen up a bit; finally, her mistress's eyelids fluttered open, and sleepy, dark eyes peeked at her through eyelashes.

"Mhhm," her mistress mumbled. "Huh?" she blinked drowsily a few times, her eyes squinting a bit to recognize her. Finally, after registering who was snuggled up close to her neck, her mistress's lips stretched into a small and tired but loving smile.

"Abyss," she cooed, and Abyss purred quietly in response.

Mistress. The one who smelled like the sun, coffee and of the earth. The one who felt like home, safety, and love. The one who took her away from the streets, fed her food that wouldn't make her stomach hurt, and cared for her. The one who gave her a name, a place to sleep, and a reason to be alive. The one who would always be her mother, now and forever. And the one she would always love more than anything else in her life.

"Come," her mistress whispered, curling an arm around her to cradle her closer to her chest. "Let's sleep..." she trailed off, before closing her eyes and letting sleep take over her.

Abyss leaned in closer to her mistress, bathing in the warmth that oozed off of her mistress's skin as well as the love she felt from her, and closed her eyes as she allowed herself to rest now that she was beside her mistress.

The lightning crackled from outside, but by then Abyss was already asleep, all her worries gone by just being with the one she loved the most.

 _I'll always be with you._

* * *

Ryan couldn't resist it. It was motherfucking adorable. No human being could resist a cute cat sleeping so adorably like that. With crinkled eyes and a mouth that looked like it was smiling and all. So you couldn't blame him if he whipped out his phone, tapped on the camera button, and took a picture without the flash on.

If the flash was on, then Ciara or Meg would have woken up, and if one or both them had woken up from a camera going off, then the outcome wouldn't be very pretty.

Ryan knew. He was usually a victim of those outcomes. But most of them were worth the pain and humiliation since it was priceless—the perfect blackmail material to weave them into doing what he wanted or for getting out of a nasty situation, like Truth or Dare.

He grinned wickedly at the picture of Abyss he obtained, and couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph well up inside of his chest. It wasn't everyday the cat looked as adorable like that.

"Oh," Ryan mused, looking a little dejected, "If only you had an ear pierced, Abyss. _Then_ would you be the ultimate cat for me."

It was a pity that animals were illegal to pierce in Blue Keys, and most parts in America as well, since the authorities had said that it would either be like they were humanising them or causing unwanted pain and discomfort to the animals. Ryan scoffed, his uncle back in his grandmother's home country had his dog pierced in the ear, and it wasn't illegal or anything. Heck, nobody even pressed any charges at him for that!

Rolling his brown eyes, Ryan tucked his phone back into one of the several pockets of his pajamas, and turned to Meg's personal bathroom. He played with the waistband of his loose pants, wondering if whether or not his bladder could hold it in until after he would wake up again. After a moment, he shrugged, and went inside the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door since his two friends were dead to the world.

The loud sound of a toilet flushing rang throughout the entire room, and Ryan exited the bathroom with a much better mood and all the while whistling a dirty song. He settled back on the bean bag he had been snoozing on, and wrapped his arms around a lone pillow lying on the ground, looking so lonely without having someone snuggling it.

He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. His lips quirked up into a small, fond smile as the glow-in-the-dark stars twinkled brightly. He remembered that special moment when they were kids—probably just a few years after their dads had introduced them to one another and a couple other kids—and when Ciara had come up with the brilliant idea that their birthday gift for Meg would be to make her ceiling look like the dark sky.

They had asked aunt Amy and uncle Arthur if they could paint and decorate their only daughter's ceiling, and Ryan couldn't but chuckle when he remembered the hesitant look on his aunt's face while his uncle whole-heartedly agree that it would be a brilliant idea.

So, equipped with small plastic canisters filled with different colours of paint, a large packet of sparkles, several strips of glow in the dark stickers, and their fathers (who were home after having successfully completed an assignment that was somewhere in the Middle East.), he and Ciara had set to work. And so while Meg was with her family, having a fun day with them in some amusement park, he and Ciara were splattering every inch of her bedroom's ceiling and sticking glitter and stickers in every area their grubby little hands could reach with the help of their amused fathers carrying them at the back of their shoulders.

Ryan couldn't help but chuckle lowly as he remembered the aftermath of their work. They had just finished redecorating Meg's room, each one of them covered from the top of their heads to the soles of their feet in a variety of paint and glitter; when Meg had arrived home, seen their paint-splattered bodies—it was as if she knew at that moment what they had done (and judging by the look on Nico's face, it looked like he had ratted them out, the little shit) and had taken off running to her bedroom.

Suffice to say, her bedroom looked normal at first, without a single drop of paint anywhere (since they had covered every inch of the floor with a shit ton of newspapers), but that was only until one would look up at the ceiling and see the utter chaos that had been dealt to it.

His uncle had laughed loudly at the outcome whereas his aunt had looked utterly devastated at the once clear white ceiling that _used_ to be her daughter's ceiling; Eric and Nico had a look on them that could have been a mix of disgust and intrigue; while Meg had a blank look on her faces she stared up at her dark blue, purple, black, dark green, orange, red, yellow, and hot pink coloured ceiling with glitter everywhere and glow-in-the-dark stickers slapped into a random and unorganised pattern.

He and Ciara had been so nervous, and once they saw her narrow her eyes at them, they had thought she was angry at them for having violated her ceiling. She had walked over to them, and with no regard for their fathers just standing right there behind them, she smacked them on the back of their heads and demanded in a loud voice why did they do that.

Ciara had looked so close to tears as she shifted from one foot to another and played with her fingers, while he had laughed nervously and exclaimed, _"Happy Birthday!"_

It didn't seem to have satisfied Meg one bit, because judging by the expression on her face, she didn't look amused at all by his answer. And, just as Ciara was about to go crying to her father, uncle Gil, Meg had pouted and asked why wasn't _she_ invited to paint her ceiling.

And apparently, _that_ had been enough to vanquish Ciara's tears away, because the blonde-haired girl has asked Meg if she didn't like it.

Ryan still remembered the stupid and silly grin on her face when she exclaimed, _"Of course I like it! It's so pretty!"_ , much to the disgruntlement of her mother.

And just like that, all the worries and doubts he and Ciara had had when creating their birthday gift for her had vanished just like that, only to be replaced by a warm and fuzzy feeling in their chests that Meg had liked their birthday gift for her. The two had exchanged smiles, smiles that were as stupid and as silly as Meg's, before they hugged Meg and in turn smearing paint all over her.

And so, at the end of Meg's birthday, the three of them had been locked into the bathroom with the warning that they should _all_ be scrubbed clean until they were literally spotless; after that, he and Ciara had received permissions from both of their parents that they were allowed to spend the night at Meg's place just so they could admire the 'beauty' of their hard work.

Once they were all tucked in Meg's bed, with the lights turned off, they had all fallen asleep after having watched the glow-in-the-dark stickers look so much more beautiful than the stars outside.

Ryan snorted silently at his childish thoughts before, but he couldn't really deny the fact in there. Because even as he continued staring at the ugly, messily decorated ceiling, he couldn't help but find _this_ man-made sky look so much more beautiful than the real one outside. It was silly, he knew, and he had no real explanation to back up his words, but should there really even be one? Because him liking this fake sky much more than the real one, was like asking what did OK stand for—was there really supposed to be a reason? Because if it happened, then it _happened_. Because instead of searching for a 'reason,' just pick yourself up and move on.

Ryan paused, and he dared to not breath a single breath as he remembered that one, disastrous moment when everything came crashing down on him and for once, in his entire life, he stood back and tried to find a reason.

It was that one life-changing moment when a man, dressed in the standard military uniform, handed a letter inside of a red envelope and saluted stiffly at his mother with a look of pity in his blue eyes; his mother didn't even read the letter inside of it—because she knew from the moment she saw the colour red, that her husband would never come home—before she fell to her knees and slammed her glasses into the ground, uncaring of the shards of what remained of her glasses that surrounded her as she mourned her beloved's death into her hands; he and brothers went over to comfort her, only for her to scream at them to leave her alone and just let her cry.

That was the first time his sweet, _sweet_ , and quiet mother had screamed at them. Because never had she screamed at them with so much raw anger in her voice.

And that was when he started thinking, _'What reason did dad have to die today?'_

His father may not have been the best man out there, but no man out there ever was, so what reason did his old man have to die on that day? Couldn't he have died when he was old, and withered, and in peace? He knew his father didn't deserve that kind of death, after how many people he'd killed as his servitude to their country and how he had been as a teenager, but Ryan knew enough people who were worse than his father that had died peacefully in their sleep, so why couldn't his father have that as well?

It was so unfair. So, so unfair.

He didn't go over to Meg's and Ciara's place just to check up on them if their fathers had suffered the same fate as his had, because the moment his mother had screamed at them to leave her alone, he had turned on his heel and went to the backyard where he and his father used to play together with his plastic toy soldiers.

He remembered sitting down under the red-leafed tree. He remembered staring blankly at their house. He remembered closing his eyes and remembering all those happy times he'd spend with his dad. He remembered that something inside of him broke, and he had crumbled down into a pathetic, screaming and crying mess of a boy his father wouldn't be proud of if he'd seen him break down like that.

He hadn't stopped crying that day. Hadn't stopped when his younger brothers joined him and started crying with him. Hadn't stopped when Leon had told him to stop crying even though he too was crying as hard as he was. Hadn't stopped even as the sun went down.

He had been so blinded by the grief of his old man dying ( _because why why why why?)_ that even if he wanted to stop, he could never.

It wasn't until his mother had went over to them—a pile of her sons crying together so loudly that the next five houses beside them could have heard them clearly—and gave each one of them a hug, a rub on the back, and a loving kiss on the forehead that he had stopped crying. He had looked up at his mother, and could see very clearly the tears that were still streaming down her face.

And when their funeral came, a two weeks after they had been notified of the death of their patriarch, the reason he had been looking for never came up. He had listened intently, all the while enduring the rays of the sun glaring down on his head, as man after man had given their speech of how the men that had died were brave soldiers that had fought valiantly and so fearlessly for their country and fellow countrymen, how each one of them would be regarded as heroes, and how each one had fallen in battle.

Second Lieutenant Alec R. Autenbury, Cavalry Scout and Infantryman of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for one year, and had met his fate at the young age of 22 in Libya when he had been run down by one of the enemy's vehicles

First Lieutenant Marco O. Blackwood, Combat Engineer of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for nine years, and had met his fate at the age of 28 in Libya when he had bled to death from taking five shots in the chest.

First Lieutenant Lazaro I. Lawson, Health Care Specialist of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for sixteen years, and had met his fate at the age of 37 in Libya when he had been run down by the enemy's vehicles.

First Lieutenant Clayton M. Moralez, Cavalry Scout of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for eleven years, and had met his fate at the age of 35 in Libya when he had been crushed to death by a civilian's house.

First Lieutenant Jonathan S. Reier, Cryptologic Linguist of team 'Desert Eagle, has served in the USA military army for five years, and had met his fate at the age of 26 in Libya when he had bled to death from having taken seven shots in the back and one to the head.

First Lieutenant Gildarts P. Valdez, Third-in-Command and Intelligence Officer of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for seventeen years, and had met his fate at the age of 35 in Libya when he had bled to death from having taken five shots in the chest, three shots in the back and two shots in the head.

First Lieutenant Clint Quinns, Second-in-Command and Field Artillery Officer of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for twenty one years, and had met his fate at the age of 39 in Libya when he had bled to death from having taken six shots in the chest and one in the head.

Captain Arthur C. Malcolm, Commanding Officer of team 'Desert Eagle', has served in the USA military army for twenty four years, and had met his fate at the age of 42 in Libya when he had bled to death from having taken eight shots in the chest, four shots in the back and one in the head.

He still remembered all of their names—because all of these people had been like _family_ to him—and how each one of them had died. It was the least he could do for them, by remembering them. But even after hours of hearing the men speak of what these soldiers have done in honour of their country, and after their bodies have been buried underneath the fresh soil of Arlington National Cemetery—Ryan had heard not even one of them mention the _reason_ for these men dying today.

Fighting for their country, sacrificing themselves for their country, honouring their country—what did _that_ have to do with their deaths?

What Ryan wanted to know was the _true reason_ for what his father and his uncles had died for.

It was only when Ciara had confronted him and asked him why hadn't he cried when their fathers were being buried. Her freckled cheeks back then had been stained with tears as she asked him over and over again if he even felt _sad_ for his dead father.

He remembered clenching his hand into a tight fist and bringing it back behind his head; he remembered the frightened expression that flashed on Ciara's face; remembered that he had taken a step forward and was just about to hit her and—!

Someone had held his arm back. And when he looked back, there was only one person standing right behind him with her arms wrapped around his arm. It was Meg, and for once, her cheeks were stained with tears as well and she looked as if she hadn't slept in _days_. She had her eyes tightly shut as she _begged_ him to _'Stop'_ and _'What the hell do you think you're doing now of all times'_ and that _'Right now isn't the time to be fighting, now that our dads are gone.'_

Ryan remembered slowly bringing his arm down; he remembered the shame and anger he had felt swell up within him, because he was THIS close to hurting Ciara—his best friend since diaperhood, the one who helped him plan ways on how to embarrass Meg, and the one who would be wiping his tears away when it was _his_ turn to cry.

He remembered Ciara looking so hurt from his earlier actions, but he remembered that it didn't stop her from wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest to cry and muttering about how sorry she was for saying those kind of words to him and promising that she would never say it again.

He remembered wrapping his other hand around her waist and burying his face into her head; he remembered smelling the soothing smell of her strawberry shampoo from her hair; he remembered that he had pulled Meg into his chest as well so that she could bury her face in his chest so that she too could cry.

He remembered he didn't shed a single tear as his two best friends mourned their hearts out for their fathers, because he had already cried hard enough on the days before that day; he remembered watching families of those that had died dispersing and sharing their condolences with each other.

He remembered that it had taken more than an hour or two for both Ciara and Meg to finally calm themselves down before they were coherent enough to form a single sentence with stammering pathetically.

When they had looked up at him, he had seen the look of confusion and that single question ( _whywhywhywhywhy?_ ) shinning in their brown eyes. He had answered with a wry and angry smile, and the words he said next would have made his grandmother disown him in the matter of a heartbeat.

"Because God was being cruel and unfair to us," he chuckled, but there was no real amusement in his voice and he sounded deathly serious.

It was Ciara who had pinched his arm rather painfully, making him cringe and hiss at her. Her brown eyes had been narrowed into a glare that was so rare to find on her face when she was younger than twelve. "Don't say that!" she had snapped. "Do you know what your lola and mom would do to you if they heard you now?!" she had demanded, but there was nothing but worry in her voice that made his heart squeeze painfully.

He had smiled wryly at her, all the while trailing his fingers through her long, messy blonde hair. She looked so cute looking all angry at him like that.

"She's right you know." Meg's quiet voice had made their heads snap towards her, and the dead look in her eye made them wonder if their eyes looked exactly like hers. "You can't just go blaming other people for their deaths," she murmured, raising her head up to stare up at him.

He would have snapped at her that he just did and what would she do about it, before she interrupted him.

"If you do that, then it would be like you were disgracing the deaths of our dads," she had whispered lowly as her grip around his arm tightened. Her eyes seemed to have hardened with resolve as her next words came trailing out of her mouth, "They died honourably, Ryan. And not just because they were fighting for our country." She shook her head, and narrowed her eyes at the man on the podium that had delivered the opening speech.

Ryan felt the shattered feeling inside of him mend itself slowly as he hoped, to dear God, that Meg had the answer to what he wanted to know the most. He swallowed the nervous lump that had accumulated in his throat, and asked her in a husked voice, "Then what did they die for?"

She turned her head back to them. Her eyes connected with Ciara's for a moment, as if she was trying to share the resolve and confidence she had in her, before she turned to him and their brown eyes connected with one another, and it was as if _she_ was trying to share everything she was currently feeling with him.

"They died, Ryan, by protecting another country," she stated firmly, but the way her voice choked mid-sentence was a sign that there were tears building up in her eyes. "They died by protecting other people, people who had families just as they did... and I guess they just forgot while they were fighting that they too had families of their own, waiting for them come back home," she smiled tearily up at him, before looking at Ciara whose brown eyes had began tearing up as well. "But I believe that at the moment they were about to die—th-they remembered that they had families as well." She intertwined her fingers into Ciara's and clenched tightly.

"And I b-believe that they were saying sorry f-for not being able to come back home," she closed her eyes just as the tears trailed down her cheeks once again. "They were saying sorry for not kissing our moms on the lips one last time, sorry for not seeing us grow up—and w-well," she stopped their, and licked her lips, looking as if she could break down at any second by now. "T-they're so so-sorry fo-for not be-being the-there for u-us," she sobbed.

Ryan had stared at her, feeling like the weight on his shoulders had been pulled off, only to be replaced by a dark feeling swirling ominously in his gut, and he hadn't realised he had tears streaming down his cheeks until Ciara had tugged him towards she and Meg and wrapped both of her arms around them as they all cried for what they had lost and for the future they could have had if their fathers hadn't died so early in their lives.

Ryan smiled fondly as he finished recalling that particular memory. It was a sad and melancholic one, but it had reminded him several times—when all seemed lost and it was _acceptable_ to break down—of the few, simple words that his father used to tell him when something bad had ruined his day.

 _"Don't give up just because things get hard, son. In life, the hardest things are always at the beginning."_

He inspected the glow-in-the-dark stars for one last time, before he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, thoroughly bored with just staring off into space.

Intent on checking his gallery filled to the brim with undeletable photos and playing a few more games of 'Stick Hero', Ryan thumbed his phone open. The bright screen illuminated his face with an eerie light, and he paused briefly once he caught sight of the background image. It was a photo of them when they were probabaly six or seven years old; they were all dressed up in embarrassing costumes fit for a kid their age on halloween. He was dressed up in a ninja costume, complete with a plastic tango and a face mask; Ciara had been adorably dolled up into a Little Red Riding Hood one, with her curly blonde hair braided into two; Meg, as everyone had expected, had been stuffed into a Bumblebee suit with the mask placed over her face.

He smirked at the photo, and pressed open the Photography folder. He scanned the apps for a brief moment, and just as he was about the open up the Gallery app, something loud rang clearly from outside.

Snapping his head towards the window, Ryan tensed up, his dark eyes widening in alarm and surprise. Something had happened outside, and it was most definitely not coming from the raging storm up above. Within the span of a second, Ryan was already up on his feet and making his way towards the window to catch a good eye-full of what had happened.

One of the mango trees that belonged to the Price family living just next door seemed to have toppled over; judging by the blazing inferno that was eating up its bark and leaves, Ryan could theorise that one particular lightning bolt had strayed form its original path and struck the tree down. He winced in sympathy once he caught sight of the vehicle that had been crushed underneath the tree's weight, and he silently mourned for the dark blue pick-up that had been functioning for as long as he had lived.

But that wasn't what worried Ryan the most.

It was the fact that the burning tree had landed right in the middle of the electrical wires that connected one utility pole to another. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the window sill, his fingers shifting to an unhealthy colour. His jaw slackened into a gap as he stared at the _orange_ (fucking _orange_ ) electricity that crackled from the loose electrical wires that wrapped around the burning tree similar to how heavy metal chains would restrain prisoners to the walls before.

But before he even had enough time to register just what the hell was going on, the abnormally coloured current arced up high in the air and, much to Ryan's growing terror, seemed to have summoned lightning because not a second later a large bolt of white thunder struck down on the tree again and causing the poor vehicle underneath it to blare its alarms in what could be perceived as panic if it was even alive.

(Randomly, Ryan could imagine the vehicle shouting, _"HELP ME! SOMEBODY! HELP ME BEFORE I BURN TO THE GROUND!"_ )

Ryan watched in pure confusion and amazement, as bolts of lightning continued to beat down on the now blackened to a crisp tree. It was only when he noticed the light bulb and electronics in Meg's room repeatedly turning on and off, that he realised, with a dreadful feeling settling deep in his gut, that something was wrong. _Very, very wrong_.

Swivelling his head up to stare at the light bulb that ominously flickered to life over and over again, Ryan furrowed his eyebrows and squinted his eyes once he detected that the colour within the transparent glass was off. Instead of the light bulb flashing to life with its ordinary hue of white, the colour within seemed to glimmer a lemony shade of yellow.

It took him a minute to process the new information, but by then it had already been too late. His eyes widened in surprise once he recognised the yellow orange electricity that vividly crackled to life in the glass bulb, and he yelped and shielded his face with his arms once the bulb literally _exploded_ into a thousand shattered pieces of glass.

It didn't take long for the rest of Meg's electronics in the room to follow the light bulb's examples. With the dangerous orange electrical power surging throughout their entire systems and rebooting it a hundred times with the power of over a million volts, everything remotedly run by electricity exploded with a shower of glass shards and yellow orange sparks with some bolts having flown off from their appliance.

Ryan's heart hammered against his ribcage, the sound of its beating thrumming loudly in his ears. His mouth was wide open as he panted harshly, his lungs demanding even more air to prevent himself from hyperventilating to unconsciousness or worse, death. He firmly cradled his head in his arms, his eyes tightly shut as he tried to calm himself down after having experienced such a frightening event. Sweat dripped down his forehead as thoughts revolved around his mind, all of which echoing loudly in his mind.

 _'What. The. Hell.'_

He knew his entire body was shaking, but he forced himself to stand strongly on his own two feet that felt more like jelly than the firm muscles that made them up. He didn't want to remove his hands away from his face just yet—because who knew just what would happen next? He trembled, hoping to dear God and any other deity out there that-

"R-Ryan?" A weak and squeaky voice called out his name, and Ryan slowly opened his eyes, his mind running a hundred miles a second as he tried to recognise whose voice was that.

He felt something dark and ominous flutter within his stomach, as he remembered with perfect precision that Ciara and Meg were in the room as well.

Almost immediately, Ryan removed his arms away from his face as he frantically scouted the room, his focus solely on locating where his two best friends were. A million thoughts were scrambled into his mind as he worried over the certain possibility of one of them getting hurt. Were they bleeding? Did the shards of glass do it? Did one of them get electrified? Or did a flying screw gouge their—!

Relief slammed down on his shoulders once he spotted them on the bed, where they'd been on since the very beginning, and he felt the breath that he never knew he was holding, slowly release itself from his aching lungs.

"R-Ryan?" Ciara called out to him again, her brown eyes wide with frantic and fear as she too slowly lowered her arms away from her face. "Are—Are you okay there?" she asked him unsurely, her eyes warily moving from one part of the room to another..

"Yeah," he replied, his voice deeper than it had originally been and coming out hoarse. "I'm—I'm fine. Okay. Alive." _'I think..._ _'_ he silently added, and he looked down at his arms once he felt a dull, throbbing ache form it. He winced once he saw the bleeding gashes that came in all sorts off sizes on his upper limbs. _'Thank God my wrists weren't slit,'_ he thought, but grimly frowned at the scratches that were nearer to it.

"Ca-can you come here?" This time, Meg had called out to him from her hiding spot behind Ciara's back.

Ryan inspected the floor that was now littered with glass shards, and he pursed his lips as he realised that he was only wearing a pair of thin socks on his feet. He glanced back up at Ciara who was still looking at him, with a frightened and desperate expression that he hadn't seen in several years.

He breathed out deeply from his nostrils, and knew that he had not choice when one of his best friends was looking at him like that.

"Yeah. Just give me a minute," he snorted, frowning unhappily as he carefully placed his foot on the least dangerous part of the ground.

After several, agonizing moments of tip-toeing through the glass shards and getting a few of them stuck in the sole of his feet, he finally arrived near the bed, and almost groaned in indignation once he saw the glass shards that were also scattered about on the bed. He grunted as he shifted his weight from side to side, the pieces of glass stuck in the skin of his foot digging even deeper and causing much unwanted pain.

"Sorry," Meg apologized meekly, the guilt on her face shinning brightly.

Ryan scowled at her. "It's fine. _I'm fine_. How about you two?" he asked, wincing once the pain intensified for a brief moment.

"...I have a couple of lacerations on my arms, but otherwise I'm fine," she answered him, pursing her lips, as she pulled her arms away from the flat-eared cat that she had shielded. "Abyss is fine too," she added, cooing comfortingly at her pet as she stroked Abyss's furry back in an effort to calm the frightened feline. "But it's Ciara who has most injuries between the three of us," she murmured as she pushed herself off of the bed once she was done comforting Abyss.

Meg winced once a shard of glass on the pillow she had been laying on had dug into the rough skin of her palms. Nevertheless, she ignored the pain, and began checking over Ciara who had cautiously sat up, making sure to be careful to avoid any unwanted shards from piercing her.

"I'm fine," Ciara tried to reason as Meg began inspecting her with a critical eye, and she winced once Meg ran a thumb over her cheek. The brown haired girl shot her an unimpressed look, and Ciara breathed out deeply. "Okay, fine. I _may_ have a few cuts on me, but I'm fine. Really. I am," she confessed.

"Few cuts," Meg scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Then what do you call this shit?" she gestured to her legs and arms, that now had several designs on them, all of which being either bleeding cuts or deep scratches. "You even have one on your cheek and a few on your forehead," Meg admonished, narrowing her eyes at the deep wound that had been inflicted upon her friend's cheek, and worst of all, it had been the bruised one. She clicked her tongue, knowing that it would be a pain to wait for that injury to heal up.

"What?!" Ryan exclaimed, and he gripped Ciara's chin and tipped it upwards to get a good view of her face. He furrowed his eyebrows at the wound on the cheek he had bruised, and felt a wave of guilt flow through him.

Until he remembered why he had given it to her in the first place. The little blonde bitch had kicked him out of bed. In the nuts.

"Ow!" Ciara whined, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to pull herself away from Ryan. "Stop, let me go!" she hissed, and Ryan reluctantly obeyed her wishes.

"You know you're lucky a shard hadn't pierced your eye," Meg whispered, her lips tugging into a small, sad frown.

Ciara gave a frown of her own, but nonetheless she nodded solemnly. "I know..."

An awkward silence descended upon all three of them, as they tried to properly process what exactly had just happened a few minutes ago.

"What..." Meg had started, immediately shattering the quietness in the room. A look of pure bewilderment and fear had been painted on her face as she tortured her upper lip between her teeth. "What _happened_?" she asked, but no one in the room knew the right answer.

However, that didn't stop Ryan from explaining his point of view of when the event had occurred. He told them that he had heard something loud from outside, and had seen the neighbour's tree burning in the middle of the power lines. He told them of the poor blue pick up truck (and they all took a moment of silence to mourn the vehicle's death, because it _had_ been a cool model), he explained in depth of the strange coloured lightning he had seen, then how the electronics in the room were going all Paranormal Activity on him, and finally with how they all suddenly exploded.

" _Orange_?" Meg questioned incredulously, looking at him with even more bewilderment on her face. She turned her head to face Ciara. "Is that even possible?" she asked her.

Ciara thinned her lips as she drew her eyebrows together. "It is," she admitted quietly. "But only when you connect copper wires together with oranges," she elaborated, before lifting her head up to look at Ryan. "Tell me, what colour was the lightning when it hit the tree?" she questioned.

"White," he immediately answered.

"Not purple or blue?"

"No. Just white. Like snow."

Ciara opened her mouth to gap incredulously at him. "That's not possible," she stated, looking like everything she'd known had been defiled.

"Why?" Both Ryan and Meg asked, intrigued.

"It's impossible for lightning to look white in this kind of weather," Ciara explained. "Because of the current cold atmosphere and the rain outside, the air should be moist and foggy. And when the weather is cold, lightning is seen as a different colour," she elaborated. "And, since it hit a tree, the lightning should normally be either red-orange or orange in colour, but you told me it was white," she deadpanned. "And lightning is only white when high up in the clouds, or if you see it from far away," she quickly added. She raised a single eyebrow. "Are you _really sure_ that it wasn't any other colour? It could have been light blue, y'know..." she trailed off.

Ryan shook his head. "No," he denied. "I'm pretty sure it was white."

Ciara frowned, "But that's-!"

A loud explosion from outside had cut her off, and she and Meg screamed out loud in fright as they huddled closer together with Abyss sandwiched in the middle. Ryan held his arms out wide, ready to shield his friends from any harm that could come to them at any minute.

But nothing happened.

All was silent and still after that, and the three teenagers were as stiff as stone as they all cautiously waited for something ( _anything_ ) bad to happen to them. Their tense shoulders trembled as they listened to whatever little sound that would notify them of any incoming danger.

But they couldn't hear anything else aside from the rain loudly dripping to the ground from outside.

Slowly, Meg relaxed herself, and she opened her mouth to speak. Relief washed over her face as she suggested, "Maybe it was just the lightning again?"

Ryan and Ciara turned to face her, the expressions on their faces were best described as dubious and doubtful, but before they could voice out their opinions, they heard something familiar.

Something very, _very_ familiar.

They heard something sizzling, and almost immediately the smell of smoke and burning wood filled their nostrils; then that sizzling turned into outright popping that made something in Ryan's mind click in realisation.

That wasn't sizzling they were hearing, it was the crackling of electricity-!

It didn't take too long for him to locate the source of where that noise was coming; once he saw it, the feeling of dread coursed throughout his entire body, making his veins feel like they'd frozen up.

It was coming from the electrical outlet. The one that was right next to the bed. The one they'd use to charge their phones whenever they fell asleep in the middle of the night.

The one that was at the moment the only thing Meg was just a few inches away from.

Orange electricity ominously crackled from the holes of the outlet, quietly arcing from side to side and, just before Ryan was about to pull Meg further away from it, the bolt of electrical energy lashed out.

Ryan watched in horror as Meg ( _his best friend since diapers; the sister he never had; the one who dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the dark and empty hole that he could have been in_ ) was zapped. He heard her scream in terror as electricity coursed throughout her entire body and smelt the electricity that was burning her skin down to the sinew of her bones.

And when he reached his hand out to try to soothe the pain she was feeling, he was struck with the same bolt of orange electricity that was the cause of all this trouble.

And, after he screamed his throat raw and felt his skin slowly burn away into ashes, it was then darkness claimed his entire mind.

And Ryan Quinns knew no more.

* * *

 **Word Count** : _11,340_

 **Time of Finish** : _June 18, 2015 at 10:27 P.M._

* * *

Well, as you can see, it took me a while to finish this chapter. And, as you can see, this one and been written into two separate POVS. Well, they're still 3rd POVS, but in Abyss's (because I'm fond of animals) and Ryan's view. So? Was it fun? Huh? Huh?

Oh, and just a fun fact of the day. Animals can sense when danger is coming because of their superior senses compared to human beings, which is why I used that to my advantage; the lightning information is true and triple check, because I want to make this fic as realistic and knowledgeably correct as well.

Oh, and if you have any problems or concerns with anything in thing story, just ask me.

I swear... I don't bite E(:


	3. Chapter 3

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairings** **:** _Optimus/Elita-One; Ironhide/Chromia; Jazz/Prowl; Sam/Mikaela (indefinite, maybe?) ... for now. Still deciding the rest, opinions and reviews are welcomed to broaden my options._

 **Author's Note:**

 **Replies to My Lovely Reviewers:**

 _ **Sarielgrace: ** Welp, it's nice to see again, girl! :D How's life been treating you, huh? Haha, and yeah, it really was spark-stopping. I kept wondering how the frag should I write that part of the chapter, and I was all like 'You know what? Frag this—I'm murdering them all, mwahaha.' :D I know, I'm cruel, haha. But here's the ultimate question, did I REALLY kill them all?  
 **Yami-The Lord of Darkness: ** First, just let me say how I LOVE your Yugioh reference in your username. If my tab had an emoji, it would be the fangirling emoji like the one in Deviantart. The one that's purple and had its arms waving madly up in the air xD Hahaha. And..yah, I updated, but not THAT soon haha. And Ryan? Him going to the Transformers universe? Naaahh, never... or maybe? Welp, that's up to you, oh reader-chan.  
 **Sunnysides: ** YESSSSH, ANOTHER JAZZY-FAN MWAHAHAHAHA. Now, time to convert the others, mwahaha. And I loved that you liked and laughed your ass off at the 'Primus reading fan fiction part' :D I really planned to add that one when I was thinking of this story before it even got published, haha. And him grinning like Unicron really IS scary, but their brothers, so some things just HAD to rub off, ne? And who just loves little Abyss? When I wrote about her, I was literally craving to adopt a cat that time haha. And Ryan? Dead? OF COURSE...maybe? Welp, that's up to you, oh fellow Jazzy-lover ;D. And me? An amazing author? You're really making me blush. I'm just an ordinary girl, writing what she loves best, etc. But thanks anyways :D Hope you get an account soon, Sunnysides :D  
 **PsychoHuntress: ** Give me a moment to bash you... JUST KIDDING~! ;D When I saw your review in my mailbox, I was all like, 'Well, I have no other choice. TIME TO WRITE DU-DU-DU-DU-DUN!' Hahaha. And it was nice of your to drop b and review :D Thanks a lot, Psycho xD (can I call you that? It's an adorable nickname haha.)_

 **Just A Little Message to All Readers:**

 _HONOR THE NEW COVER PICTURE. HONOR IT. I WORKED MY FRAGGING AFT OF THERE.  
_ _Hahaha, just kidding. A friend of mine drew the girl (she's a a random doodle of his) and I asked him if I could colour it, then BAM! So... who likes it? Ang guess who's the girl with orange eyes ;) Five points to those who answer.  
_ _And guess what people, I'm planning on making a game out of this. Whoever has the most points, gets to pick what event I should write in a chapter—what would they like to see, which character interacts with who, etc. It could be a simple OMAKE, or, if I really like the event, it'll be a part of the storyline ;D So... let's see the rules at the bottom and who's the winner of this chapter :D_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

 _ **In Which I Owe Ciara Twenty Bucks**_

* * *

I had thought that everything was going to be alright—that we would be safe, that the danger that had happened would only be a one time thing, and that everything would go back to the way it was. Old, safe and normal, and just the way I liked it—turns out, I was wrong. Very wrong.

It only got worse.

I never noticed the sparking outlet from behind me; it was only when Ryan looked at something from behind me then turned his gaze on me with a terrified expression on his usually 'Feels-so-good-to-punch' arrogant face, that I finally heard the almost silent crackling of electricity from behind me.

But before I could twist my body around to catch sight of the electricity, it had already been too late.

When it touched me, it didn't hurt at first. It felt more like a small tingle that jiggled its way up my spine. I would have laughed at the ticklish sensation, but as soon as it had appeared, it was then replaced by the feeling of warmth. At first, the warm feeling was soothing to my senses and I felt almost eerily serene and calm, and I momentarily remembered the times when my father would tightly wrap his arms around me and give me a big bear hug whenever he came home from whatever place he and his team would be stationed at. But then as quickly as that warm and happy sensation came it soon disappeared, and I didn't have enough time to prepare myself for the utter agony and pain that engulfed my entire being soon after.

Excruciating pain coursed throughout my veins, feeling like the life giving blood within it had been replaced by active lava that scorched every single part of my body. My muscles felt like they were being burned alive down to the sinew of my bones, and I felt _something_ itchy and rough grind against the thick, calcified material that structured my being. Pain bloomed in my nerves, and I felt as if someone had drizzled oil over it and left it to sizzle just a few inches away from the sun.

I screamed as loudly as I could, hoping that if I screamed even more then the pain would go away.

I watched in agony and distress as orange electricity crackled right before my eyes, and I felt my entire body spasm uncontrollably (and adding even more pain) when I felt something bump into my stomach.

It didn't take too long for my cries to be joined by another.

My hands gripped my throbbing head, as I tried to drown out the yowls and wails that came from the small being that was writhing near my stomach. I felt tears build up in my eyes and freely roll down my cheeks as I helplessly watched Abyss cry as loudly as me as her furry body was engulfed in orange electricity as well.

I tried to scream her name out, to tell whatever omnipotent being out there that was causing all this trouble to leave me and my cat the fuck alone—but nothing came out of my throat, nothing but the raw screech and cries that filled the entire air above me.

I shakily removed my hands away from my head and wrapped my arms around the large cat that I had raised since kittenhood, and pulled her spasming form against my chest and held her tightly. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried my best to resist the electricity that was now starting to sear my skin, hoping against hope that Abyss would feel less pain now that I was hugging her tightly and with all the love I had for her.

I tried to concentrate, pushing away the pain that had clouded my whole mind, as I drowned whatever noise that came out of my mouth and from others that best I could.

Abyss was still writhing against my chest, yowling and wailing like the first time I'd tried to touch her, as her claws retracted from their furry depths and began digging into my arms, cutting flesh and spilling blood and gouging burn marks until it was no longer recognizable.

I tried to ignore the pain, tried to ignore the noise, tried to ignore _everything_.

Until suddenly, I felt the little furry being in my arms suddenly go still.

I opened my eyes the best I could, my eyebrows furrowed to their deepest, and looked down at my cat.

Abyss was staring up at me, her usually beautiful blue green eyes were gone, and in their place were a pair of wide, illuminating eyes I had never been familiar with in my entire life. Instead of a sea green sclera that surrounded a black pupil and iris, Abyss's eyes were glowing a dark golden colour that could have been a contrasting mix of dark bloody red and bright sunny yellow.

She stared up at me, and for a moment I thought orange electricity had crackled from the corners of her eyes. But then the glow in her eyes slowy drained away like a light bulb becoming dimmer as the days go by, and her usual sea green orbs were back. The orange electricity that crackled around her disappeared with a loud snap, and her stiff body fell limp against my arms much like a marionette doll would once you released its strings.

I felt my heart stop at that moment, regardless of the pain that was still igniting within me as the electricity sparked around me, and I felt as if time had stopped as I gazed down at Abyss with wide, brown eyes.

She didn't stare back at me; her sea green orbs were dark and lifeless, and her black pupils were large instead of the thin slit they had been just a few hours ago when I had fed her breakfast. Her body was just as limp and lifeless and unmoving as it was a second ago.

It didn't take me too long to register the fact that Abyss didn't move, but it took me even longer to finally register the thought that Abyss _would never_ move again.

Because she was no longer alive.

 _She's gone_ , something in my mind whispered huskily to me—the same quiet voice in my head that told me the same thing when I heard the news about my father. The same exact voice that haunted me in my dreams, echoing that same sentence over and over again until I woke up from bed with sweat soaking through my clothes and leaving my hair moist and full of tangles that were a pain to fix.

 _Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone._

I heard a loud, horrible and heart-shattering screech that made the electricity crackling around me to double their efforts in causing me pain. And when I tried to breathe, to inhale oxygen into my starved and depraved lungs, it took me a moment to realise that the horrible scream that I was hearing was coming from _me_.

Nonetheless, it didn't stop me from screaming my throat raw until all that was left of it was a bloody and messed up voicebox that could never be fixed.

Tears were streaming down my face, painting my already red and puffy cheeks with even more salty fluids, and were already dripping down my chin and trailing past my neck to soak the neckline of the shirt I'd worn since yesterday. I sobbed loudly as I cradled Abyss's unmoving form closer to me.

"A-Abyss," I croaked out, my throat preventing anything else aside from a scream from escaping my lips.

Abyss didn't respond; instead, she continued staring at my neck with dull and blank sea green eyes.

I cried even louder at that, knowing full well that most of the tears spilling out of my eyes and the pain that I was feeling was coming from the death of my friend, instead of the electricity that surged throughout my entire body and set every single nerve inside of me on fire.

And then, something moving from my peripheral vision had caught my attention, momentarily distracting me form the intense pain within me. Weakly, I flickered my eyes to the left, and I instantly caught sight of someone moving towards me.

Ryan was leaning closer to me on the bed, the expression on his face could only be best described as concerned—with his eyebrows furrowed deeply, his tanned forehead wrinkled deeply in thought, his dark eyes darkening even further, and his lips pinched into a grimace. But what really worried me so was the fact that he had his right arm outstretched, with his right hand wide open and slowly inching closer and closer to my sparking body.

My brown eyes widened in fear and I opened my mouth even wider to scream at him in distress, the words on my tongue instantly dying out just as I was about to screech at him to stop and to stay fuck away from me. His large hand slowly grew closer to my body, and I wriggled away from him, causing unwanted pain to shoot up my spine and heighten up the feeling of burn marks sizzling on my bare skin.

I cried, even more tears spilling from my eyes, as the pain immediately registered itself in my mind, and I helplessly curled up into a ball, thinking that if I did that then the pain would lessen and it would eventually stop.

It didn't stop. And I had a vague yet horrifying thought that it would never stop.

I watched in helplessness as Ryan's palm connected with the curve of my hip, and I hoarsely wailed his name out at the top of my voice once I saw the orange electrical power travel up his arms.

I watched his body stiffen up, his eyes widening in shock as he tried to register the foreign feeling coursing throughout his entire body. Not a second too long, his entire body crumbled onto the bed, orange sparks flying off his head and chest as he spasmed uncontrollably. I heard him scream—his scream just as loud, and horrifying, and full of pain like mine. He had his hands gripping his head, his calloused fingers tangling with dark locks of brown hair as he tugged and pulled on them to distract himself from the pain with even more pain, and he had one of his eyes squinting deeply with electric sparks shooting off its corner.

I watched, through a haze ( _of pain, sorrow, grief, desperation, helplessness, despair, fear and anger)_ that clouded my mind to prevent me from properly thinking straight, as what had happened to Abyss ( _sweet, sweet Abyss who had been with me for so, so long and didn't deserve to die like that_ ) was now happening to Ryan.

It didn't take too long for him to stiffen up, his entire body freezing up as if time had stopped every system and organ within him from working and doing their duties, and I watched as his normally brown eyes were engulfed by an orange light that erased any existence of his iris and pupil.

His eyes glowed eerily, in that strangely beautiful yet frightening way, and orange sparks flew off the edges.

He twitched once, before his back arched up from my bed, his mouth wide open to release a chilling scream that I knew would haunt me forever, even after death would claim me as theirs.

And then, after he screamed for what seemed like an eternity, his entire body stiffened up, spasming uncontrollably one last time, before he dropped down on the bed, looking just as lifeless Abyss was right now.

Faintly, I heard Ciara scream from where she was just a few feet away from me—she had probably retreated away from me once she caught sight of my electrocuting body—but the words that left her lips sounded pretty blurry and incomprehensible to me as I stared at Ryan, his head having twisted to the side so that he would be facing me.

He looked horrible. He didn't look like the Ryan that I knew—the one that would always have that bright glint in his dark eyes, the one who would always have his tongue filled with sarcastic quips and burning comebacks, the one who would always have the corners of his lips tilting upwards whenever he looked at me in the eye—instead, he looked like a completely different person to me right now. His eyes were dark, but they no longer held the unique vibrance in them that would differentiate him from an emotionless puppet; his mouth was slightly opened, but no words came out of it, and I had a feeling that nothing would ever come out of it ever again.

And when he looked at me straight in the eyes ( _with those dead and dark eyes that were longer Ryan's that I was so fond of_ ), it seemed as if he was looking at me with accusing eyes, silently asking me, _Why did you let this happen to me?_

I felt fresh tears build up from the back of my eyes, and it didn't take too long for them to roll down my cheeks and join the others that had completely soaked up the neckline of my T-shirt. I wanted so bad to tell him, _I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen, I never wanted you to die. Please, please don't look at me like that_ — _I love you Ryan, and I would never hurt you. Please. Don't blame me._

But the accursed orange electricity surrounding my throat and slowly constricting it into a tight bind that left little to no room for air to enter and leave my lungs, prevented me from making any other sound aside from a scream or screech.

Why? Why did this have to happen? How did things end up like this? We were having so much fun just a while ago, so _why_? Why did _they_ have to die? Why did Abyss have to leave me just like that? Why did Ryan have to die so suddenly and unexpectedly like our dads had? Why did _I_ have to watch them die? I was the first one to get electrocuted, so why did _I_ get to live a little bit longer than them?

Thoughts were streaming through my mind, but I paid little to no attention to them because I had noticed something out of place happening to me. My eyesight was starting to get blurry, with the disgusting and omen-bringing colour of orange slowly seeping from the corners and painting every single space until my entire vision had been completely engulfed by the colour that I was now coming to hate.

The last thing I saw before the colour orange had (permanently?) blinded me, was Ciara's face and how close she was to me. But, before I could even dwell enough on that thought, everything went orange for me, and I felt pain ( _pain that was much, much more excruciating and unbearable than the one before_ ) engulf my entire being.

I felt my entire body freeze up from the sudden onslaught of pain filling every nook and cranny of my body, and I arched up once I felt something within me just _spike up_ —forcing me to bend my spin upwards to support the strange feeling inside of me shooting up—and I opened my mouth as widely as I could to emit a glass-shattering scream that I swore had felt like my ear drums had bursted, temporarily deafening me to the entire world.

And then, just as fast as the unbearable pain had eaten up every single nerve functioning inside of me, it was suddenly gone, and I dropped down on the bed. The only thing that remained was the colour of orange that prevented me from seeing anything else aside from that blasted colour.

But just before I felt something—something _powerful_ and _old_ and _unstoppable_ —enter my head and slowly pull my mind into a deep and eternal sleep ( _something that I had been expecting for a long time, but never this soon at this young of an age_ ), I swore I heard a scream filter its way through my ears before everything went black for me.

And I guessed I promptly died.

* * *

The next time I opened my eyes, the first thing I had seen was the colour white. At first, I had thought that I was in Heaven—because white meant pure and innocent, and I was pretty sure I hadn't killed anyone or performed a serious major sin when I used to be a part of the living—but then I realised that there was a serious lack of big, white and pearl-covered plates with stairs made out of clouds and the sound of angelic choirs singing in the background.

That, and the fact I had just stood there waiting for a pretty long time, wondering where the hell was the judge who would be deducing if whether or not I deserved to be in Heaven or Hell.

The next thing that entered my mind was that I was in a hospital—because, aside from Heaven, white also meant being locked up in a room with nothing to do and slowly dying of boredom with people dressed in white telling you that it was for your own good to stay there—and I coincidentally wondered what had my mother thought when she came home and saw me, being in a state near death, and the corpses of my friends that I would always cherish.

And then, I _remembered_.

Flashes of memories passed through my head as I recalled what had happened. Everything had started out ordinarily, with the exception of the horrible thunderstorm happening outside. I had woken up, positioned my best friends into the sixty nine zone, fed Abyss, watched some movies with my friends until Ciara's laptop had died out, played strip poker, then promptly fell asleep; only to be woken up by the sound of something exploding and shards of glass piercing my skin deep enough to draw blood.

I remembered the orange electricity, and the way it wrapped around my body, impersonating the way my father would wrap his arms around me as he gave me a huge bear hug. I could still feel the faint tingles of pain fluttering about on my skin, and I glanced down at my arms to inspect the surprisingly burn-less skin.

My shoulders trembled slightly as pictures of Abyss and Ryan going through the same agonising torture as me invaded my mind, filling me with an endless guilt and sorrow as I mourned their deaths once again.

Abyss and Ryan didn't deserve to die. They didn't deserve to die so unexpectedly just like my dad had. They didn't deserve to die so soon, and in a place that we had all deemed as safe.

A husky voice whispered hauntingly into my ear, its voice double-toned but eerily melodious all the same.

 _If only they hadn't touched you, then they would be alive right now_.

I felt a ton of weight slam itself down on my shoulders, and I fell to my knees as my heart felt as if it was swelling up like a water balloon that could pop at any minute with even the slightest touch if you weren't careful with it. I stared blankly at at the white wall, wondering silently if it really was my own fault that they were gone.

Almost immediately, hundreds of thoughts circulated and filled my head to the brim with conspiracy theories.

If only I had moved away from the plug; if only I had heard the sound of sparks sooner; if only I had tried harder to tell them to stay away from me; if only I didn't let my guard down at the moment when I needed it most; if only...

A sob choked its way out my throat, and I immediately buried my face into my hands. I felt small tears slowly trail down my cheeks, wetting the palms of my waiting hands, as I cried into them. My shoulder trembled even more as I whimpered pathetically, and I wished with all my heart that my two best friends and Abyss were here to comfort me like they always did.

I cried as quietly as I could—because the last time I had cried it had been too loud—trying my best to control myself and will the tears away for good. I wasn't the kind of person who let all of their feelings out once they could no longer handle them anymore; no, I was the type of person who tried to bottle up their feelings as best as they could to prevent other people from seeing their weaknesses, or to try to look stronger so that they could finally _feel_ strong enough.

After a few more minutes, and once I was sure I could breathe well enough without hiccuping into tears again or sobbing myself till I fell into unconsciousness, I pulled my wet palms away from my face, and stared at my wrists and the inner parts of my arms. It had seemed I had cried big and long enough for the tears to stream down my wrists and arms.

And then, I realised something once I remembered how much I wished for my two best friends and adorable cat to be with me right now.

"Ciara," I breathed out, my eyes widening in remembrance. The last time I had seen her, she was alive and well, but she was too close for her to be completely safe from me, and the scream that I had just heard before falling into unconsciousness (or was it death?) could have come from her. Immediately, I looked around me, and for the first time, I had noticed that there was nothing else in the room aside from me.

And I was being completely serious here. There really wasn't anything in the seemingly spaceless room I was in. There were no colours to bring life to the blank room, and there certainly were no furnitures decorating it. The ceiling above me seemed endless, and the only thing I was pretty sure off was the fact that I was on the cold floor.

Which lead me to question myself again, did I die or not?

 **" I see that you are online,** **"** a deep voice bellowed out from behind me, accompanied by the distinct sounds of a rumbling car engine and gears turning with the irritating sounds of metal screeching against one another. I winced, and my hands immediately flew up to my head to cover my ears. The voice was loud—loud enough to make my eardrums ring in pain—and it only got worse with the screeching that soon followed after it.

Cautiously, I turned around to face the man, but once I caught sight of the person in front of me, my hands immediately dropped down to rest beside my sides as I gaped, awe-strucked with a large amount of unease welling up inside of me, at the huge, metal part standing right in front of me.

It took me a couple of minutes to snap myself out of my stupor, and I reacted almost instinctively with years of guidance from my father.

I immediately skipped back a couple of feet away from the foot that was entirely made out of pure metal, positioning my right foot behind my left one to support my weight and maintain my balance. My shoulders tensed up as I brought my hands up to guard my face from any incoming hits, my hands balled up into tight fists as I warily waited for the monstrous being in front of me to attack.

My father had taught me, ever since I was a little girl, to run away when you see something you _know_ you couldn't handle. But he had also told me, to stand your ground and fight when there wasn't any other room to run for.

And judging by the enclosed space around me, I could safely guess that there really wasn't any room I could run into. And besides, I was never really the type of person to run away first. Running away was for sissies and for those who were smart enough to live for another day. I was most definitely not a sissy, and I was never really the smartest one in the family—that was Mom and Nico's job. I was a fighter, through and through, just like dad and Eric, and I _fought_ to live for another day.

A tense silence hung over the air, only to be broken by the sound of something heavy and hard slamming into the ground.

I flinched, stepping back a few more steps, before I held myself strongly and prepared myself for the worst.

 **" Your stance is off," **the same voice stated loudly, and I stopped myself from shielding my ears. **" Widen your stance a little more. You'll fall over and get crushed to death if you ever faced against a Transformer with that silly stance," **the voice instructed, but I was too busy pondering over the fact that the being had said 'Transformer.'

And it all suddenly clicked inside of my head.

Huge metal foot, the rumbling of a car engine, and the word 'Transformer.'

It made me realise with a start that what was standing before me was a real, live, motherfucking _Transformer_.

Hesitantly, I rose my head just a little bit to peek over my knuckles and get a good, long look of what I should be expecting.

I was met with a face, one that was both inhumane and human at the same time. It seemed human because it had most aspects of what a human face would have: a pair of eyes, a pair of eyebrows, cheeks, a nose, a chin, and a pair of lips. What made the face seem so alien to me was because where the skin would be stretched on a human face, there was only metal that gleamed underneath whatever light the room I was in had illuminated.

And it— _he_ , I corrected, because I would never describe and insult a sentient being as an _it_ , and I was pretty sure that the Transformer was male, what with his deep voice and all—had a inhumanely gorgeous face that made me longingly wish I could trail my tiny hands up and down his gorgeous cheekbones.

And what _fine_ cheekbones he had. High, wide and smooth cheekbones that complimented his angular face rather well.

And his lips! Oh, how I envied how juicily plumply and full his lips were. It was neither too big nor too small, but just the right size and fullness that could make any woman swoon and want to kiss and chew on them until they were all red and swollen and looking much more beautiful than they were before.

The sounds of gears grinding against one another and someone chocking snapped me out of my thoughts, and I tore my gaze away from the sinfully gorgeous lips once a metal part had covered them. I realised, dejectedly, that the metal part was a hand and that the Transformer was coughing, with his beautiful cheekbones flushing a pretty purplish-pink colour.

I tilted my head to the side as a furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, silently wondering why was the Transformer even blushing. Had I done something embarrassing? I hadn't said a word since I got here, and the only thing I did was move away from him. Perhaps _he_ had done something—maybe remembered a very embarrassing situation he had once been in.

And then he said, **" I'm flattered that you think of me so, but I hadn't expected that you, who are so young, would have...such an explicit and racy processor." **His metal lips— _derma_ , I reminded myself, because Transformer parts were termed differently from human ones—stretching into a bashful and cheeky smile.

I blinked, confused for just a second, before my eyes widened in mute horror and the realisation of what I had _thought_ about made me gasp, covering my mouth with a hand just like my mother had drilled into me when she was teaching me manners.

"You..." I started unsurely, my voice coming out sounding like a dying frog, and I was pretty sure the blood rushing to my face was making my cheeks turn a pretty tomato-red colour. "You heard me?" Well, my thoughts, to be more precise, but they both had the same meaning,

You can read my mind?

The large mech nodded, his smile looking a little stressed. **" You possess no mental blocks, and a mind with no mental blocks is like a a speaker to every psychic out there," **he elaborated patiently, the strained metal making up his throat wrinkling.

I flushed even brighter, and mentally cursed myself for not being born or trying to have even just a single 'mental block'.

Lots of air seemed to blow out his nose, which I guess was the equivalent of a snort for a Transformer, as he said, **" It is nothing to berate yourself with. You didn't know of it in the first place, after all."**

I felt the blood circulating in my cheeks slowly fade away, and I offered him a shaky and unsure smile. He didn't seem like he would hurt me, since he was smiling and being very polite to me; nonetheless, I kept my shoulders tense, because this was somebody I didn't know—and you should never judge a book by just its cover.

Bad things happen when you aren't careful, after all.

The deep lines engraved on top of the mech's optics seemed to furrow—and I guessed those were his optical ridges—as his dermas thinned a little bit. For a moment, he stayed like that, staring at me with unblinking optics that were the colour of-

 **" I mean you no harm," **was the first thing out of his mouth, but I barely heard him as I stared at his eyes. Most particularly, the _colour_ of them.

They were orange. Big globes of orange that resembled the sun if you look at it up close, with electrical sparks seeping out the corners of his optics and crackling slightly.

I stared, and stared some more, and then I pieced the colour of his optics and the lightning together, and just _knew_.

Knew that it had been this mech's fault for why was I here. Because there was no fucking way this was just a pure, simple coincidence.

My eyes widened even more as I focused my attention a little bit more at the mech's face, and once I saw the complete sorrow and guilt that practically painted his expression, I knew that I had been right with my assumption.

"It was _you_ ," I breathed, shocked beyond my entire life. " _You_ were the one who started this." And by this, I meant the events that had happened. First with the explosion of literally everything powered by electricity, then the cause of my pain, and why I was even here in the first place.

And I knew that it had been _his_ fault for why I had to watch the life in Abyss's and Ryan's slowly die away, leaving them lifeless and no different from a corpse.

The mech ( _the murderer, murderer, murderer!)_ was moving his lips, but the words he was saying never reached my ears.

Blood flowed up to my head and circulated inside the veins that were the closest to my eardrums, temporarily leaving me deaf from any sound that was trying to make me hear. I clenched my fists, barely feeling the pain in my palms as my fingernails dug into my skin and leaving shallow wounds that bled the crimson fluid of life. My entire body was literally shaking—but not in fear. No. The fear that I had once felt had been completely erased by pure and utter _fury_.

So what if he was more than twenty times my laughably puny height? So what if he was made of metal that would cause more harm to me? And so what if he could kill me with just the flick of his finger?

 _I didn't give a fuck_.

Because all that was running through my head was that the cold-blooded murderer of Abyss and Ryan was right there in front of me, and I had to do _something_.

My body had reacted long before I could process what I was really doing.

An inhumane, bloodcurdling scream ripped its way out my throat and pierced the silent air above me with its unimaginable pitch. I launched myself at the robotic being, uncaring of the pain I had felt when I harshly smacked my forehead against his metal foot. Tears of anguish formed in my eyes and blurred my vision, but I didn't need to see to attack.

" _YOU KILLED THEM!_ " I cried at him, banging my fists against his foot—knowing oh so well that it would hardly cause him any pain, which only served to add even more fuel to the blazing fire of anger and hate burning within me. " _YOU FUCKING BASTARD YOU KILLED THEM!_ " I roared.

The giant mech didn't respond, instead looking down at me with big, orange optics that held sympathy and pity within them. And I knew who he was feeling sorry for, which only made even angrier at him, because how _dare_ he looked at me like that when it was _his_ entire fucking fault.

I gave him one last glare full of menace, before directing my attention to the foot I was clinging on. It was time for me to stop messing around, and start actually doing something damaging.

I inspected the large metal foot I was currently straddling on, noticing that thick, metal panels covered the top part with tiny spacing in between them that only a being my size could see. But the panels weren't what caught my attention—and if what I'd garnered from fan fictions that I'd read from the internet was right, then there would wires underneath the metal plating.

 _Sensitive_ wires. Wires that would cause real damage.

Without thinking much of the consequences, I slipped my hand in between an open space between two panels and slid down a metal part. I felt a cold, sadistic grin turn my lips upwards once my eyes greedily ate up the sight of wires of every colour, and even some translucent tubes with purplish pink liquid flowing within them.

I looked back up at the mech to gauge his reaction, and was satisfied to see the alarmed expression on his faceplates. I smiled a sickly, sweet smile that could have made any ordinary human being's stomach churn in contempt.

 **" Now, let's not get-" **The mech tried to reason with me, but I had already ripped my gaze off of him and turned back to the sensitive wiring in front of me. I blinked slowly, assessing which coloured wire I should fuck up first. My tiny hands gripped a handful of coloured wires, as I deviously thought,

Why not just all of them?

Tightly gripping on the bundle of wires in my hands, I _pulled_ as far as I could pull, making sure to twist and bend them as I did so.

And when I heard the mech above me release a pained groan, I revelled in it.

" _This_ is what you get, you glitching fragger," I hissed, as I pulled a couple of wires out of their respective sockets, causing a few sparks of white electricity to ignite. "For killing, much less hurting, my friends!"

I heard something loud come crashing down on the ground, causing the ground underneath to quake and shudder from the impact. Curiously, I turned my head to see what had made the ground move—and I felt a sadistic sense of pleasure well up inside of my chest when I saw the mech had slammed one of his fists into the ground as he hunched over to support himself from falling down.

"Did that hurt you?" I yelled at him, and saw that his orange optics had narrowed onto my little frame. My hands shook from the intensity of his gaze on me, but I continued on, "Good! It _should_ , you mother fragging, son of a dim-spark knock-off!

I turned back to continue my torture on the wires, but before I could so much as grab a fistful of another batch of colourful cords, I felt something large and cold wrap around my waist and pluck me off of the metal foot.

Out of pure instinct, I yelped in surprise from suddenly being picked up like a child's toy and immediately began struggling against the cold, solid object that was gripping my waist firmly.

 **" That's enough," **the mech bellowed, his orange optics sharpened into a warning glare, as I realised that what had plucked me off of the ground and was currently preventing me from falling to my doom was a giant metal hand. A giant metal hand that belonged to the mech who seemed rather pissed off at me.

And you know what I did to the mech who was rather pissed off at me?

I stuck my tongue out and blew a raspberry at him, all the while raising both of my middle fingers at him in a very rude gesture.

I felt the hand around me tightening up by a fraction, but that was enough to make it feel like my ribs were slowly being squeezed together. I painfully wheezed out, my lungs expanding widely to accommodate my action. I felt relief surge through me when the mech widened his hold on me by just a little bit, enough to make me stop feeling like I was being squeezed like a stress ball.

 **" My apologies," **the mech rumbled deeply, a contrite look appearing on his face for just a fraction of a second before it completely disappeared. **" But you deserved it," **he said blandly, deadpanning at me.

I gave him a glare—hoping that this look of mine _would_ actually turn him to dust. A second passed and nothing happened, much to my disappointment—and threw my hands up in the air to portray my anger and disbelief at him. " _I_ deserved to get _hurt_?" I demanded, shaking my hands to hopefully emphasise my point. "Look here, you little fragger, _you_ are the one who deserves to get hurt!" I screamed at him. " _You_ were the one who killed Abyss and Ryan!" I accused him, bringing up my clenched fist to shake it at him in a threatening manner. "So what right do you have to say _I_ deserved to get hurt?!"

The mech's optical ridges drew together in bewilderment, before he responded with his voice coming out with a higher pitch, **" All I did was _squeeze_ you!"**

"And it hurt like fucking hell, you fragging glitched spawn of Unicron!" I shot back, my glare growing darker.

I felt the hand holding me suddenly tense up, and I stiffened my body to reduce pain from the upcoming squeezing I was pretty sure would come soon. Fortunately for me, there was no squeezing involved; unfortunately for me, I was brought closer to the mech's face.

I felt the blood flowing through my veins instantly freeze up and whatever I was going to say had crippled itself on my tongue when I saw what the mechs face had looked like up close.

The male Transformer had a beautiful face that looked as if it had never been torn up; but when he brought my body closer to his face, it was only then that I noticed the horrible marks that seemed to be invisible on his face if one didn't look closer.

Thick and thin lines ran down the metal skin of his faceplates, all of which were faint outlines that could hardly be seen if one didn't look close enough. The scars littering about his face were long and jagged, as if something sharp and uneven had dragged itself across his faceplates—and judging by the few criss-cross scars on his faceplates, I wouldn't even doubt it—and I knew that each one had a story of its own.

I unconsciously shuddered, remembering very well about the scars on my dad's chest and back—some of them caused by gun shot wounds, some from knives or very sharp objects, and the rest coming from before he had even joined the military.

I snapped myself out of my little trip down my memory lane, and finally noticed the angry and pained expression covering his faceplates. His optics had narrowed even further—resembling the slit of a snake's eyes—and instead of their flaming orange colour, his optics were bleeding a dark crimson hue that made him seem more like a huge metal monster.

(A distinct image flashed through my head, and I didn't have to have three guesses why Megatron's face had appeared.)

A faded scar dragged itself across the mech's right optic in a horizontal way, and I wasn't stupid enough to now know that it had been the work of a large blade, and that large blade had ran right through his optic. I winced, because it looked painful _and_ sounded painful, but I didn't have enough time to wonder why he still had an optic in that hole because then my eyes had traveled down to his lips.

Pushing down the urge to gush over how utterly _perfect_ his dermas were, I inspected the faint scar running across it in a serrated and vertical manner. It was only when I leaned a little away from his face, that I realised his dermas had been pulled into an angry and furious snarl.

 **" I am starting to get very impatient with your rudeness, femme," **he growled at me, his grip on me tightening up in a threatening manner. I panicked, flickering my eyes from one part of his hand to another, and began banging my fists against the unbendable metal surrounding my waist. **" I am sure I haven't inflicted any kind of physical pain on you since you have arrived in my realm, which gives you no reason to call me such names and rip out my sensor nodes in my feet. This is my last warning to you, femme. Treat me with respect."**

I froze up underneath his scrutinising and commanding gaze, my dancing legs instantly feeling like they were made up of jelly. I stared up at him, shock and a large amount of fear swirling around in my chest, and I swallowed down the large lump in my throat.

We stayed like that for who knows how long, staring deeply at each other with an intense air surrounding us.

After a few more moments, I broke the silence by opening my mouth and squeaking out, "You electrocuted me." I knew it was a weak comeback, but that were the only words that had managed to form itself on my lips.

The mech's optics softened a little bit, his optics blurring back into the shade of orange I was very familiar with by now, and the snarl playing on his had completely disappeared. He tilted his head to properly look down at me, and a puff of warm air vented out of his nose. **" I did** **, " **he admitted remorsefully, **" And for that I greatly apologise, but it needed to be done to acquire you from your dimension," **he elaborated.

I blinked and furrowed my eyebrows a little bit, befuddled by his explanation. "What?" I didn't have Ciara's genius brain, so I was kind of at a loss to understand by what he meant

A much larger puff of air blew out from his nose, hitting my face with warm air that smelled like nothing. **" I had to use an apparatus to transport you from your dimension to my realm, without actually killing you. And conveniently, there seemed to be a forecast happening within your town that involved electricity—my strongest fort. All I had to do was engulf your entire body in my electricity to safely transport you into my dimension, without separating any limbs from you being," **he added the last part as an after thought and I gaped at him.

"D-Did you try this before?" I was _not_ stuttering, mind you. I just... sorta stumbled upon my words, alright?

The mech's lips twisted into a proud grin that made my stomach drop in horror. **" I have not, mind you," **he stated smugly. **" But I _have_ tried it on other sentient beings aside from you as of lately," **he added, looking a little hesitant to reward me with that certain piece of information.

I felt my heart skip a beat, and I felt as if the air in my lungs had been knocked out of me when I suddenly gasped aloud. Other sentient beings? I hopefully though that he meant my two friends, and that they were alive just like me.

"Are," I licked my lips, unsure if I really wanted to ask him this question while I was still in his grip. "Are they alive?"

The mech didn't answer, and his optics flickered dark—and I guessed this was their way of blinking or closing their eyes—for a moment, before they onlined once again. He stared deeply at me, but he did not answer me. The look he had on his faceplates told me to ask him another question.

I gulped, not really liking the melancholic and forlorning look on his faceplates, but reluctantly asked another question anyways. "Are they my friends?" _the one you killed in front of me?_ was the unspoken sentence that hung well-known in the air.

The mech shook his large helm. **" I cannot tell you," **he rumbled deeply, looking remorseful.

I felt a vein in my forehead twitch. "Then what _can_ you tell me?"

The large mech shuttered his bright orange optics at me, staring intensely at me for a short moment, before his dermas twitched into a polite, if forced, smile. **" You may ask for my designation and for why you are here," **was all he had allowed.

What? No option three?

 **" If you are not satisfied with the only available choices, then you have no reason to ask me anymore," **he told me strictly, but there was a tint of amusement in his voice, and I blanched.

Oh yeah. I'd forgotten he could read my thoughts.

I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "That's a violation of privacy, you know?" I murmured to him, awkwardly rubbing my arms in a self-conscious way. Awkwardly, because I was still trapped in the mech's hold.

 **" I apologize," **he returned, but there was no real apology in his words. I darkly glared at him once I caught sight of the amused grin just twittering on his dermas. **" But your mind really _is_ like a speaker, opening your mind to whomever can hear it," **he insisted.

I pursed my lips, "Still, that doesn't give you the right to _listen_ to it. Can't you just...ignore it or whatever?"

The mech's dermas lifted into a smile that showed his pearly, white dents. **" Now what fun would that be if I did that?" **he questioned with a mix of innocence and slyness.

I jutted my bottom lip out as I pouted. "Fine," I sighed, dejectedly, knowing that I couldn't really force him to the ground and order him to _never_ read my mind ever again, what with me being a tiny, human being and him being a gigantic, Transformer. "Then why am I even here in the first place?" I asked instead.

Because I really needed answers right now. I needed to know why was I even here in the first place; why did _I_ have to have the worst luck ever to be here right now; how and why is a real live Transformers is just standing right there in front of me, and even going so far as to carry me off of the ground; _why_ did Ryan and Abyss have to die.

I just needed answers right now. I didn't need to know who this mysterious mech was, all I needed to find out was _why_ , out of all the billions of people out there, was _I_ picked?

Just as I'd asked him that question, the mech's broad shoulders slumped down and I watched in curiosity as his blazing orange optics shifted to a soft, golden hue. Internally, I wondered if Transformers really _did_ have the power to control the colour of their optics, because Autobots and Decepticons couldn't just be organised into their respective factions based by the colour of their optics. Mirage had yellow optics and he was an Autobot, whereas Breakdown was a Decepticon who had yellow optics as well.

And let's not forget about Airachnid and the Dinobots as well...

 **" I...am in need of your help, little one," **he began solemnly as he vented quietly. The warm air that came form his mouth billowed my long hair, and I tilted my head in question.

"My help?" I stated aloud. " _You_ ," I gestured widely to his large size, "need _me_?" I then gestured to my embarrassingly smaller size.

The large mech nodded. **" I do."**

I gave him my best bewildered look, with comically large eyes and a gaping mouth. "But _why_? Your...Your huge! And I'm...I'm small," I admitted, and I could feel my cheeks burn brightly.

The mech tilted his helm, but a small full of understanding and sympathy lit up his faceplates. **" Size doesn't matter, little one. All that matters is that you have the mere _drive_ and enough _sense_ to accomplish what I'm about to assign you with," **he elaborated, but that wasn't what I really wanted to hear as an answer.

"But why _me_?" I specified my question. "Why did you pick me out of all the hundreds of millions of people just standing around?"

My question seemed to make the mech's smile widen even more, and I couldn't help but feel like he was smiling at me with warmth and happiness. Just like a parent would look at their child. I squirmed, not liking the look on his faceplates, because only my mother and father had the right to look at me like that.

 **"** **I doubt a quarter of your species even know what exactly me or my children are,** **"** he quipped. **"** **And I doubt even a half of the human beings who have heard of my children's accomplishments even _believe_ that my species are real,** **"** he added, his smile looking a little sadder than before. **"** **And barely hundreds of thousands of you actually believe that we are real,** **"** he murmured to me.

I felt my heart ache a little, because I knew what he was saying was true. The Transformers fandom might have been a large group, composed of maybe a little more than five hundred thousands of people, but I knew that as each year passed some people would drop out—maybe because they've found a much better fandom to gush over and fangasm about. The Transformers fan group wasn't as big as it was before, and there were even times I was scared that the fandom might just one day die out—only to be remembered about as a simple memory that had once been adored by so many people.

 **"** **I watched those who believed in my children every day—watching how they had come to be the people they are right now,** **"** he spoke, and I pushed down to urge to think about how stalkerish he sounded right now. **"** **And I continued to do so until I came to the point I heard you and your companions exchange how each one of you would live out your ideal life in my universe,** **"** he continued, his voice deepening a bit and he paused for a moment, looking a little hesitant to continue any more.

 **" At first, I'd thought all three of you would be like the rest...Naive of what the true dangers of my universe possess, but it was only until I heard you tell them, that you never even wanted to be in my universe," **he sighed. **" At first, I was little angry at you for saying such a thing, because you were talking about the universe I was born into** **—but then I heard you explain your reasons...** **"** he paused, and I saw the pain that encompassed his entire faceplates.

 **" I heard you talk of the war that my children had created,"** he vented out loudly, his optics softening even more as he spoke gene further. **" I heard how horrible you'd described it as, and I agree with your sentiments. Who _would_ want to be in a world with a war raging on like that?" **he chuckled, but there was no real humour in it. **" I could hear the pain in your voice as you told your companions what could happen if my universe ever co-exised with yours. I...I felt like you were treating them like they were alive, little one, and not like the fictional characters you were raised to have believed them as so," **he said, and he slowly placed his other hand underneath my dangling legs so that when he released me from his hold I would safely fall into his other large hand.

 **" And then I heard you,"** he whispered, cupping me in bot of his hands right now as I looked up at him in amazement. **" I heard what would you do if you ever were in my universe—which leads me to the ultimate question," **he stopped talking, and his glossa slipped out to trail over his dermas.

Unintentionally, I followed his glossa as it swept over his dermas, and I briefly cursed my hormones. Slag you teenaged hormones!

 **" Would you really stop the war, little one?" **he had a serious expression on his face, but I could see the weary lines stressing his forehead and the hope that gleamed brightly in his yellow optics.

For a moment, I forgot. Forgot about everything: what this mech had done, where I was, and who _I_ was—because once I'd seen the utter agony on his faceplates, he didn't seem like a large alien being that was made out of pure metal that could crush me any day if I wasn't careful.

He looked like any other person out there who's lived a hard life—who's _seen_ and _lived_ through things one didn't have to experience while they were alive. And he looked tired—so very, very tired—and looked just about ready to give up, but he didn't have the choice do so. It was like he had been given a job that seemed so perfect at the beginning that slowly grew horrible and unbearable as time passed by and he could never _ever_ quit.

Frankly, he looked as if he's been through hell several times, only to come back and experience it all over again.

I felt my heart squeeze painfully at that—and almost instantly, I remembered the heart-shattering deaths of each mech and femme that had fallen while still fighting for their respective factions—and wondered who this mech was.

Was he someone I knew? Someone I had adored, and eventually cried over when he had offlined?

I needed to know.

I licked my lips and opened my mouth. My throat felt parched, but I forced myself to say the three words that I should have asked in the very beginning.

"Who are you?"

The mech's golden optics shifted back to their original colour, and as my brown eyes stared at his orange optics, he answered me.

 **" I go by many names from where I come from," **he started easily, and I blinked at his words. And then, a small smile played on his dermas as he continued on, **" But you may know as the almighty creator of the Transformers race, the brother of Unicron, and the Life-bringer."**

I felt my jaw drop as I realised who this mech was.

 **" My designation is Primus, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Meg Malstrom of the human race."**

...

Ciara was right. I _am_ an idiot.

* * *

 **Word Count:** _10,842_

 **Time of Finish:** _July 2, 2015 at 5:08 P.M._

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 **Okay, the rules of the game are simple.**

1 pt: to those who review.  
1 pt: to those who favourite this story  
1 pt: to those who follow this story  
1 pt: to guests (because c'mon! They may not be allowed to have an account, so give them a chance at winning ne?)  
5 pt: to those who accomplish my question/task of the day ;)  
1000000 pt: to those who say Jazz or Soundwave are awesome. (okay, disregard that rule. I won't really give you points there, but I will praise your awesomeness and if I could, I would knock on your door and tackle you to the ground once I see you and smother you with my love. Be grateful xD)

I won't give points to those who favourite or follow me as an author—because that's your decision and I respect that. But to those who love me, I LOVE YOU TOO MY SPARKS :D.

And, if you already win a chapter, you can win again in five chapters so that other readers can have a chance to win.

* * *

 **Prize of the Winner:**

Well, I get to write an event you would LOVE to see in this story. It could be the past of a specific character, the interaction of a character with another or more, or it could just be total randomness such as this story being a movie and the canon and OC characters being movie stars and watching the movie all together.

See? Aren't I just so kind?

And isn't this just a great advertising idea?! I'm not even gonna be meek here, because this is partly what this whole game is about. That, and the fact I need to freshen up my writing skills and to give this story a flash of...LIFE and SPICE, ne? Because isn't it getting a little TOO depressing, haha. It's supposed to be comedy, and damn it I SHALL bring the comedy haha.

* * *

 **Winner(s) of the Chapter:**

 _The Writer Akayla, Sariel Grace, and SunnySides._

 _...Frag. RIGHT OF THE BAT, 3 FRAGGING WINNERS DAAAAMMMMIIIIT. Siiiggghs, looks like I have lots of work to do, huh? huhu. Well, congrats you three winners! Either review or PM me your requests, and trust me, don't feel shy about it. If it's perverted, FINE! I can do that! I have Choco with me after all, haha._

* * *

 **Question/Task of the Chapter:**

 _Wha do you think of the frag-tastic picture? I had to photocopy my friend's work several times to get the colours right, so it'd warm my spark if you would tell me your thoughts about it :3_

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If you want to know how many points you have, just ask me. Or you can have a harder time and just count it yourself. Trust me, asking me is the better AND funner part, haha.


	4. Chapter 4

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairings** **:** _Optimus/Elita-One; Ironhide/Chromia; Jazz/Prowl; Sam/Mikaela (indefinite, maybe?) ... for now. Still deciding the rest, opinions and reviews are welcomed to broaden my options._

 **Author's Note:** _I pulled my hair up into a bun~ Then tied it tightly with a ribbon~ And placed a headband over my head~ Because GUYS! School's been suspended, and I don't know for how long, haha~ So, let me just put up my writing hairstyle up, and let's get this chapter finished already~  
 **One day later** : Guuuuys, I just want to finish this chapter and go to sleep, huhu. But my inspiration keeps hitting me and I can't fall to sleep without the fear of me forgetting what I'm supposed to write clouding my entire mind. I feel like I should go see a psychiatrist, but c'mon peole! You love me when I'm crazy right?... Right?! Huhu, I feel so neglected, why won't anybody love my insaneness? Things I write become funny when I'm hyper and feel like I've drank an entire bottle of coke through my nose. I haven't tried it yet, and I'm not planning on doing so, thank you very much. Death by coke may be awesome, but it's not for me, haha.  
_

 **Replies to My Lovely Reviewers:**  
 ** _Flameing-Shadow:_** _Wassup, bro? Haha, sorry but I'm feeling like I'm drunk on chocolate. My co-author, Choco, had just stuffed an entire bar of dairy milk down my throat and I'm feeling kind of jittery hehe. And me? Amazing? Bro, the one amazing here is you right now_ _for reviewing! Do you know what that does to an author? It makes them feel like their heart just exploded with the pride and happiness they have for their story. Remember, reviews are like a writer's crack to a pot. We need more, but unlike true drugs, it's healthy haha. And thanks :D I tried really hard on the pic and hearing someone say she's beautiful makes me blush hehe~ AND LET US ALL HAIL SOUNDWAVE. You are awesome bro. I shall build a shrine tonight and honour the greatness of another member joining my secret Soundwave cult. But ssssh, that's our secret ;D  
 **Of-Light-and-Shadow:** Well hello there! Fancy seeing you review here, hehehe ;D. And thanks, trying to keep everything here as unique as I can get. So, expect a lot of unique things to happen here hehe, and a lot of strange ones that you might or might not enjoy~ And I SHALL keep up a good work, you should to, in reviewing that is ;D Haha, joking. No, seriously, review, soldier! That's an order! xD  
 **AutobotCopperShadow:**_ _I've been watching you lately... NO, DON'T BE CREEPED OUT, I WAS JUST JOKING. Hahaha, sorry, but I just had to say it. I noticed you favoriting and following this fic of mine ever since I published it, and I've been wondering where the hell have you been in the reviews, hehe. But, no need to be shy or lazy to review now hehe ;D In this fic o' mine, I'll respond to every single review I get, and get to publicly humiliate each and every one of you with my perverted winks ;D. Be honoured, soldier, haha. And awww, thanks for the mcflurry! You deserve a promotion! Hehehe, here's a banana-flavored sundae in return and in honour of the new Minions movie hehe~  
 **SarielGrace:** GIRL! IT'S SO NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN! Even though we just chatted a few days ago, hehe~ Still, nice to see you haha. And you know Meg, she lives to create spark attacks to herself, to those around her, and to those reading this little story of hers. She's insane, just like her creator―ME! And I found it quite ironic when she called him a glitching spawn of Unicron, because then I was imagining their family tree being like: Unicron impregnating his mother and sparking Primus, both his spawn and brother. Gosh, the plot bunnies that popped up in my head when I wrote it haha. Luckily, it died down, though Choco's been wondering how does THAT happen. Well, Transformer gods aren't really all that different from Greek gods, if you know what I mean, with all the intense incest in there. Anyways, bai bai~ Hope you have a wonderful day today and tomorrow~  
 **SunnySides:** Yo! How's it been?! Wait, I have something very important to cry about... YOU NEVER TOLD ME WHAT YOU WANTED AS A PRIZE HUHU. I was all sad-like, wondering if you saw the little box from last chapter, saying that you were a winner. So, if you ever happen to read this message, TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT ME TO WRITE. My fingers are itching to write something, believe me. Aaaanyways, hehe, I agree with your 'Soundwave is superior to all cons' reference. I shall use that as a motto, haha. And I did! I saw Jazz's RID2015 design, and guurrrl, just look at that body~ And Meg isn't really the epitome of 'good luck' or 'first impressions are important' haha. And d'awww, I see that me killing of Abyss has made all of you cry. Well, let me tell you one thing, if the one you requested about Abyss is the prize you wanted me to write, well...IT'LL HAPPEN GIRL! So you better choose another scene, hehe~ I'm such a spoiler bitch haha~ And me and you? Friends? Where the hell did you get that idea? HAHA, JUST KIDDING, I WANNA SEE THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE WHEN YOU READ THAT PART HAHA. Well, I guess your stupidly grinning right now like I am haha. But, yeah. We'll be great friends, so...Will you be my friend, SunnySides? *puppy dog eyes* (I know you cannot resist my cuteness!)  
 **Cyber The Femme:** Girl, rad name you have there! You should check it out on DeviantArt! It's a kind of very popular Transformers OC who is SMOKING hot and I wish I own hehe~ She has such an awwweesome design that I would just love to run my hands over, haha. Ignore my pervertedness, hehe. AND GIRL I SHALL PRASIE YOUR AWESOMENESS FOR PRAISING SOUNDWAVE'S FRAGAWESOMENESS. And I soooo get how you feel, I too was going through a creepypasta phase and then BAM! I saw Soundwave and immediately fell in love with him. What can I say? Frag at first sight ;D. Just kidding~ More like love at first sight, hehe. And haha, someone who knows my pain with photocopying! My printer almost malfunctioned when I did it so many times haha~ AND YES! ANOTHER FNAF fan! I am LOVING this site.  
 **Transformers HM:** Yes. My sole purpose on earth is to kill you...with all the love and hugs I'm about to give you once I track down your address! Hahaha. Seriously, when I saw your long-aft review, I just had to say that part hehe. And I made you hate Primus, huh? Well, time to either reverse that spell or deepen it because what I'm about to do with Primus will either make you die of laughter or question life why am I so crazy haha. And me? Kill Abyss and Ryan? Oh~ You know me so well~ *wink wink*. And it's okay to go all Paranormal Activity on me in your reviews, I don't really mind~ Because either way, I might do the same to every reviewer here one day haha~ And, well... your hypothesis about Abyss?...Well, you're only half-correct, but which half, you'll never know until the next future chapters~ I've been planning and fanqueening about this for a LONG time, so yeah, everything's pretty much fleshed out, taped over, glued over, sat on, and dusted. You'll never see another story that induces this much laughter, tears, heart-attacks, fan squealing, etc. That's my goal, haha. To make this story as memorable as its predecessors, haha. Nobody Special from Chapter 1's review made me enlist this as my main goal, haha. And the reason for liking Soundwave? Dude, who DOESN'T like the silent type? I know I do, haha. I've had much more real-life crushes on guys who doesn't talk that much, and believe me when I saw the way Soundwave acted, it was most definitely love at first sight ;D But, at least I have another cult buddy~  
 **UltimateFan-girl15** : You're really rocking out that nickname of yours. But, let's get things straight here. If anybody's the best fangirl of Soundwave, that is ME, capische? Okay, haha. I feel like such an obsessive stalker. But, since I'm VERY interested in your username now, what are you the ultimate fangirl of? I wanna know :3 Share your secrets with me~!  
 **Yami-The Lord of Darkness:** I will! I WILL, SIR! Hmmm, makes me wonder if you read the reply to review section of this fic...Welp, wanted you to know just to check this area more often, kay? And if you happen to not see it, I will keep sending you the winks ;D ;D ;D (insert a million more 'the winks' here)  
 **AetheriusStorm:** Hi! It's nice to see you here. Oh! Quick question by the way, what does Aetherius mean? I was really curious when I saw your name, and I would just LOVE to know what it means, because...erm... it sound like an amazing designation to use for a character here, haha. And I'm glad you enjoy my story :)I'm trying my best here, and it's nice to hear from readers that they enjoy it haha. And ERRORS?! Well...damn...errors :'( I think we can all blame my phone's autocorrect on that haha. Anyways, thanks for reviewing girl! ;) Means a lot to little ole me haha  
_

 **Just A Little Message to All Readers:**

 _Guys, do you know what 17 lovers and 24 followers does to a writer? Well, to those writers who are trying to aim high and think that they're story are absolutely amazing, they wouldn't give a single shit; however, to someone like me whose just published a story with four chapters already in and isn't really expecting that much and receiving that much love from you people? Guys, you can shoot me now, I'll even stand at point blank range just to help you XD_

 _Seriously, you peeps are the best. Can't I just marry you all?_

* * *

 **Cybertron's Units of Time:**

Astrosecond: .498 Earth second  
Nano-klik: 1 Earth second (I don't normally use this though...)  
Klik: 1.2 Earth minutes  
Breem: 8.3 Earth minutes.  
Groon: 1 Earth hour  
Cycle: 1.25 Earth hours  
Joor: 8 Earth Hours  
Solar Cycle: 1 Earth day  
Orn: 13 Earth days  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar Cycle: 7.5 Earth months  
Meta-Cycle: 13 Earth months.  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

PS. All of this has been decided, and will not change in the future in case of inconveniencing you readers AKA don't try to test my temper and tell me to change it. I spent a whole crapload of time of searching it up, until I realised all I had to do was type 'Transformers Units of Time.' But, please suggest more units of time that may be used side from the ones listed above. Thank you for you patience and kindness, now get the frag out and start reading this story ;P

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

 _ **In Which I'm Gifted with Killer Heels**_

* * *

I felt a sudden, burning pain jolt me awake from my deep sleep. With a surprised gasp, I snapped my eyes open and instinctively straightened my back to sit myself up from the cold, metal floor I was on. My vision was a blurry mess and I brought my hands up to rub my eyes. I felt a yawn forming on my lips as I vaguely wondered what had happened.

 **" You had lost your consciousness** **, " **a booming, two-toned voice spoke dryly, and I winced while covering my ears to drown out the extra pitch that carried itself throughout the entire room.

Man, this guy sure had a loud voice.

With my eyes narrowed into a glare and the determination to tell the guy to quiet down, I swivelled my gaze from the metal ground to the source of the voice that came from up above.

I paused once the sight of the robotic being twenty times or so my size hovered over me with orange optics locked onto my _much_ smaller being.

My eyes widened and I opened my mouth to scream loudly—until images of memories flashed through my head like an old 70's film, complete with black and white pictures.

I paused and my supposed eardrum-shattering scream transformed into an embarrassingly pathetic, "Eep..."

I blinked, feeling a dull ache form just beneath the skin of my forehead and temple, and I muttered incoherently as a migraine attacked my brain. I groaned as I held my head in one of my hands. I organised my memories in order until everything made sense, and all that really confused me was why was I laying unconscious on the mech's large, metal palms in the first place.

"Urrrrgh," I groaned, "What the hell happened to me?"

The large mech tilted his dark blue helm and stared at me, his dermas pressed into a thin line. **" Apparently, you lost consciousness after I revealed my identity to you, Meg Malcolm," **he answered.

I was just about to ask him what his identity was, until the memory of him introducing himself as the mother-fragging deity of the entire Transformers race hit me like a brick wall. Almost instantly, I tensed up and stared straight into his large, orange optics with my own wide, brown eyes.

"Y-Yo-Yo-You-Yo-You're P-P-Pri-Primus?!" I loudly stammered, holding the sides of my head with both hands as I stared incredulously at him. _ **"You're Primus?!"**_ I screamed at him, and watched in grim satisfaction as he winced.

 **" I am," **the mech—the _God_ —confirmed, bobbing his helm up and down.

If I were in an anime or cartoon, my eyes would have bulged out of their respective eye sockets by now with how wide my eyes already were.

"I," I began uneasily, feeling a little woozy and faint from the news I had just received. "I think I'm gonna have to lay down for this one," I mumbled and just as my eyes were about to roll into the back of my head into a dead faint, I felt something sharp and painful burn throughout my entire body and almost instantly I was jolted back awake before I could fall back into an unconscious state.

"Wha-?!" I exclaimed, surprised, and I wondered briefly what had awoken me. I got my answer once I saw the faint sparks of orange electricity flowing right above the skin of my arms and crackling quietly but loud enough for me to hear them. It took me a moment to register what had happened, and once I did, I snapped my gaze back on Primus.

"You fragger! You electrocuted me, _again!_ " I accused him with a loud voice, my eyes turning into a deathly glare that practically dripped venom.

Primus's bright orange optics shuttered—as if he was blinking in disbelief—and I stared right back with a righteously angry expression on my face.

A silent beat passed.

The horrifying realisation of what I'd done had finally dawned on me, and my face paled until it could have been mistaken as another sheet of white paper. My hands immediately flew up to my face to cover my mouth, which I could guess was gaping as wide as a goldfish by now. My eyes were wide with terror as I opened and closed my mouth, at a loss for words.

Had...Had I really just done that?

Had I really just called the almighty creator of the Transformers race a 'fragger?'

If it could, my face paled even more as I remembered how...derogatory I was to him even before I had fainted. As quick as lightning, I had already stuffed my entire face into my palms to hide the tomato red blush tinting my cheeks. I squirmed in humiliation and opened my mouth so wide to unleash a silent scream to profess how embarrassed and ashamed I was right now.

If I had the choice right now, I would gladly transform myself into an ostrich so that I could bury my head into a hole nearby, where I would slowly die with this particular embarrassing memory replaying in my head over and over again.

Urrrgh! This was just so damn embarrassing, slaggit!

I felt the metal palm underneath me quake a little, and I finally remembered where exactly I was. With a snap of my crimson-hued face out of my shaking hands, my brown eyes immediately connected with the god's orange optics.

"F-Fo-Forget what I-I just said! I-I didn't mean it!" I instantly squealed out, my voice coming out in a pitch that could make even glass shudder. And then, realising how brash and bossy I was, I tried to override my earlier statement. "W-Wait! D-Disregard that last one! I-I didn't mean it either—w-wait! I also meant it b-but I—no wa-wait," I stammered uncontrollably, my cheeks flushing an even darker shade of red and I could literally feel the steam oozing off of my face. "I..I-I-I—"

I felt the metal palm lifting me up in the air shake a little, and I stopped making the incoherent words that just downright refused to properly form on my tongue. I thinned my lips and nervously squeezed my eyes shut, preparing myself for what was about to come—which I could pretty much sum up involved me, his giant hand made out of pure metal, and another round of some painful rib squeezing.

Only it never came.

I heard the engine in his chest rumble deeply—a sound similar to when you start up your car—and hesitantly, I opened my eyes.

When I saw his face, I didn't know what to feel, but there was one thing I could most safely assure myself with. Primus wasn't mad at me; in fact, it was the complete opposite.

The almighty and immortal creator of the Transformers's race had a large smile playing on his dermas, and his face was twisted into an...amused(?) expression, which made his orange optics glow even brighter than before. The engine within his chest continued to rumble, accompanied by the almost quiet sounds of turning gears and sliding pipe panels.

I blinked then furrowed my eyebrows, fully perplexed and nonplussed at the immortal being's reaction. Should I feel relieved that he wasn't slowly squeezing me to death or crushing me underneath the sole of his pede? (I peeked over the edge of his open palm, internally telling myself not to scream or fret over how high I was from the ground, and checked if he had any heels. I felt a little disappointed that he didn't have any, because men who weren't afraid to wear heels [either in their loafers or boots] were kind of a little turn-on for me) Or should I feel insulted that a gigantic being made out of pure metal was _laughing_ at me?

To end my current predicament, I decided to feel a little bit of both, because in the end confusion overshadowed every other emotion swirling inside of me.

"You..." I started uneasily, not knowing how should I properly word my question without inflicting insult, and a little addled from my earlier embarrassment. "Why are you laughing?" I tilted my head.

Primus snorted loudly, causing the air from his nose to hit my face. **" You remind me of someone I knew from a distant past," **he answered, shaking his dark blue helm from side to side. If I had blinked a second too soon, I would have missed the fond smile that coated his expression for just a brief moment before it instantly disappeared. **" But that is a past that is now long gone," **he rumbled lowly, his optics flittering to the side and his dermas thinning into a straight line as a solemn expression overshadowed his entire faceplates.

I blinked, frowning a little, because the metal god before me looked...lonely, and I could guess that this 'someone' he was talking about really meant a lot to him. Curiously, I asked him, "Can I know who this person is?"

Primus's orange optic-ed gaze swivelled upon my being, and I flinched when I saw how cold his optics were. **" That is none of your business, little one**, **"** he gruffly reprimanded me. **" And it is of no importance right now," **he told me, but I could hear a sort of grudging tone in his voice—as if he was reluctant to forget about this 'someone.'

I outwardly scoffed, momentarily forgetting about who I was currently with.

The gigantic being raised an optical ridge at me, as if inspecting my current action, and I flushed brightly once I noticed how brash and casual I was acting right now.

Inwardly berating myself, I lowly bowed my head to Primus, hoping that this little action of mine erased all the bad things I had done and said to him. I winced once I remembered I had ripped a couple of wires—sensory nodes, if I remembered what Primus had told me—from his pede. "I...I apologise," I awkwardly told him, because I was never really the formal type. "I didn't mean to act beyond the pale," I muttered, shifting from where I sat on his palm and nervously wringing my fingers into the cool fabric of my T-shirt.

I didn't see Primus shutter his optics, nor did I see him furrow his optical ridges together. **" Beyond...the pale?" **he tested, unsure if what he had heard was right.

I nodded unsurely. "Um...yeah. Beyond the pale."

 **" What does that mean?" **he asked me, and I could feel the hand underneath me move up higher in the air. **" I am unfamiliar with such a term."**

Pushing down the urge to cry in misery on how high I now was from the ground, I raised my head a little to look him in the eye—erm, _optics_. "It means to act out of bounds, or, erm, to act improper," I explained to him to the best of my knowledge. "It's an expression. Haven't you've-" I paused, something in my head slowly creeping up to the front, and I felt my jaw slacken once I remembered something kind-of-very important. "Oh yeah," I breathed, my eyes a little wide from the surprise I'd felt once I'd remembered that small piece of information that brought a lot of laughter to me whenever I read about it in fan fictions. "Your race don't have these kind of things..."

I felt the hand underneath me freeze up, which made me stiffen up as well, and I cautiously raised my gaze to look at Primus. Seeing the alarmed and unsettled expression on his face, I felt a little confused over why was he reacting in this kind of way. **" What are you talking about? What do my children and I lack? Is it something important and prominent for the means of survival?" **he asked me, his words blurring a little because of how fast he was speaking.

After having deciphered the mess of words, I shook my head a little to shake away my dizziness. "No, no, no," I immediately denied, but the smile tilting the corners of my lips upwards was most definitely undeniable. "It's...It's not that important. It's just a small quirk that only we humans have, hehe," I giggled.

Primus shuttered his optics, the worry that was creasing the metal skin of his forehead immediately disappearing as interest soon clouded his faceplates. **" Something that is only unique to your race..." **he said a loud, his orange optics gleaming in curiosity. **" What is it?" **he asked me, and I felt my smile grow a little bigger when the thought of him looking like a little kid on Christmas day appeared in my head.

"We call it 'Idiomatic Expressions.' It's kind of like a creativity in speech, and the words that make it up aren't really... literal," I intoned to the best of my capabilities. "Like a figure of speech. We say the words, but it has a different meaning. For example, I say 'Don't cry over spilt milk.' It doesn't really mean not to cry over milk that's been spilt, but instead it means not to complain or cry over something that has happened before."

Primus didn't shutter his optics this time; instead, he frowned, **" And what use do you have with these 'Idiomatic Expressions?'"**

I shrugged, "I'm not really sure. But I just know it's fun to use."

The frown on Primus's dermas deepened as he concluded, **" You humans are very odd creatures."**

I snorted in an unladylike fashion. "First time I've heard that one."

The hand underneath me moved once again, and I immediately latched onto the nearest finger within my reach. As his hand came to a stop, I breathed out a sigh of relief, my pounding heart slowing down by just a teens-weensy bit.

I didn't want to fall to my doom, thank you very fucking much. And I mostly definitely didn't want to be caught by Primus's metal hand, because something that hard catching me from how many feet high above the ground just screamed suicidal. I still wondered how Mikaela and Sam were still able to survive after falling to their doom several times and landing safely into the hands of Bumblebee or (if I correctly remember that scene in the first movie where Sam and Mikaela fell from Optimus's shoulder underneath the bridge) getting drop-kicked by Optimus Prime in the motherfreaking stomach. Talk about ouch.

 **" You have no need to fear me," **Primus kindly told me, and I hesitantly ripped my gaze away from the ground (and sweet Jesus, it was so far away!). **" I give my word to you that I will not harm you," **he vowed.

I distinctly remembered something my teacher from accounting had told the entire class. A promise is merely a guarantee, whereas a warrant is a warranty. I wanted to tell Primus that I wanted a warrant, but I wisely kept my smartass mouth shut. It wouldn't do me any good if I kept insulting and acting informal to the godly being. I already left a horrible first impression on him, so I had to _somehow_ convince him that I wasn't really always like that.

Sometimes.

As long as I wasn't pissed off to the max.

But hey! I had an excuse! He killed my friends!

 **" I didn't kill your friends," **Primus informed me, before he snapped his dermas shut, his orange optics widening a little bit in surprise and a little horror.

I whipped my head so fast to face him that I could have gotten whiplash. Fortunately for me, I hadn't, and I'm never planning on experiencing one.

"What?" I asked him, my eyes widening until it could have been the size of baby plates. "They're...They're alive?" I breathed, my heart beating frantically in hope and excitement.

 **" I cannot answer that ****question, " **Primus intoned, but I didn't care about that. He had slipped! I had heard him say so! They weren't dead! They were still (even if I wasn't that sure, but still!) alive! **" But all I can promise to you right now is that I will not harm you."**

My teary eyes focused a bit more into the reality I was currently in. Furiously rubbing my eyes for a few seconds to erase away the building tears of happiness and relief, I couldn't help the wide grin the stretched upon my face. I had a clue, even if it wasn't a confirmed one, but _still_ —it was a **_clue_**. Abyss and Ryan could still be alive, and that was all that mattered. Having the knowledge of the possibility of the two of them alive was _way_ better than not knowing at all.

Just that tiny piece of knowledge that held more worth than the entire universe right now had provided my body with the sense of tranquility and serenity. I sniffled to hold in my colds—because man would it just be awkward and disgusting if it dripped down my nose—and I lifted my head up to face Primus, my eyes glimmering with hope.

"They're alive, aren't they?" I asked him, but he didn't answer. I felt my lips twitch upward as I realised the childish game he was playing—it was a game I used to play with my brothers, and when the teachers were angry with me. It was the quiet game. The rule was simple: do not talk, under any circumstances should you not open your mouth and speak. Because if you did, then you lost. And right now, if Primus lost, then I would win. I could tell if he was lying to me or not, because his facial expressions were just too damn easy to figure out when he was all guilty.

He would give in. One day, he would but I could tell that now wasn't that time. He still had that hardness in his optics—something that told me he had built up for _millennials._ He still had enough determination to hide the truth away from me, and had enough will power alone to keep secrets from me.

And mark my words, I _will_ unlock them all.

Primus's optics flickered with amusement. **" I doubt that," **he rumbled deeply, and I grimaced once I remembered that he could read my thoughts.

Dammit. He knew every single plan I had just schemed, frag it all!

 **" You have a very wide variety of...brash and crude words, femme. Might I ask where have you learned them from?" **He coughed slightly, bringing one of his hands to 'politely' cover his dermas.

I flushed brightly, a little ashamed of my actions but that was just how I grew up. I had a mother who would usually get mad at my father or brothers whenever they did something bad, and it didn't take me too long to learn all those 'fun' words she used; I had two brothers who were the ones who gave me the 'Birds and the Bees Talk' when I was probably six or seven, when I asked them how were babies made and if they were built from a machine in the hospital.

As if remembering something from a very important part of my life, I snorted in an unladylike fashion. Feeling a little evil, I retorted, "Well...I learned a lot of them from your children."

Primus stared blankly, as if he was processing this kind of information. When I saw his orange optics darken a bit into a dim, grey light, I almost panicked. Because grey eyes meant offline of sleeping, right? And if Primus was in that kind of state, then what would happen to _me_? I was still in his hand for frag's sake!

And then, just as fast as it had dimmed, his optics brightened up. I felt a massive force of relief slam into me, and I slowly inched away from the nearest finger I could cling to.

 **" I see..." **Primus answered, looking a little unnerved. **" I've checked this 'Internet' of yours, and confirmed that what you've said is true," **he looked disappointed and a little angry, if the flash of red that had changed his optic colour for a split second said anything. **" It has seemed that my children truly are holding themselves as horrible role models to you, humans."**

I blinked at his words before I smiled softly at him, my eyes dropping a bit. "Not all of them are horrible role models, Primus," I paused. "Ugh...sir?" I asked more than stated, thoroughly confused with how to address him now, or how to act around him. Primus could read my thoughts, after all, so what was the use of acting all formal and polite to him if he could just read the added swears and embarrassing thoughts in my head?

 **" Primus," **He patiently corrected me, his perfect lip plates curving upwards into a small smile. **" Just call me Primus. After all, we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future," **he informed me—and dammit! There it fragging was again! He had that stupid glint in his eyes that told me he knew something I didn't. And that infuriated me a lot, but I didn't dare voice out my irritation.

Because soon— _oh so very soon_ —I WILL find out about it. Mark my words. (MWAHAHAHAHA.)

 **" And you don't have to regard me with such...uncomfortable informalities. Treat me as you would another human being, but with the awareness that I stand above you, little one," **he affixed, looking nonchalant but watching me with careful optics that highly regarded me.

I squirmed a little in my seat (and I could just imagine the 'GUILTY' sign flashing above my head with colourful lights blinking). He...wanted me to treat him like I would to any other human being?

"I'm..." I started, not really knowing how to say this without insulting, angering, or disappointing the godly being. "I don't think you'd want me to treat you like...any other human being," I ended lamely.

 **" And why shouldn't I?" **

Because if I treated you like any other human being that I currently resented and tried to pound into a bloody pulp before, then you'd probably squish me in the fraction of a slagging _second_. I'd probably yell profanities at you beforehand, insult your 'creators' and inflict any kind of pain possible upon you. And, I'd probably push any painful, emotional buttons on you just to watch you cry.

AKA, I'd take great, sadistic pleasure in seeing you in pain and would try to make your life a living hell for as long as I could live for.

Quickly shoving that thought underneath every other thought in my head to prevent Primus from reading such a horrifying thing, I breathed a sigh of relief once I saw a questioning look appeared on his face—as if he was confused that he wasn't able to read anything from me and acquire the answers he was currently seeking from me.

He shot me a suspicious look, and I merely stared back at him with my best poker face on.

Thank you, strip poker, for all the experience you've given me in creating the best poker face.

 **" Strip...poker?"**

"You wouldn't want to know," was all I'd told him. Amazingly enough, he'd backed off, unwilling to learn more about the human culture. Oh well, it was his loss. "And...you promise not to hurt me?" I asked him, all the while looking unnervingly at the ground far below me. The imagery of me splatting into the ground—my organs spilling everywhere and my blood pooling around my mess of a body—made a shudder run through me.

As if sensing—or should I say reading?—my less than satisfactory thoughts, Primus curled his large hand a little to create a sort of barrier around me to prevent me from looking at the ground. With only the option of looking up, I did and met the illuminating optics of the godly mech himself. He gave me a smile, a small and sincere one, and I awkwardly gave him a half-smile. He had told me to treat him like any other ordinary human being—problem is, I didn't like him. But who could blame me? The little glitched up fragger had done all of _this_ to me, and the only thing I liked about him so far was his face, and what good eye candy it was.

I may have not experienced sex yet; I may have not kissed a a boy yet, much less a freaking girl; I may have not had a boyfriend as well (and dammit, I might never will, what with me being 'maybe' or 'maybe not' dead).

But if there's one thing all of you needed to know, whether it belonged to a being of my race or of a sentient metallic being who could transform into any vehicle, crappy or hot, I _know_ a good face when I see it.

Primus opened his mouth, ready to say something, but he paused—and I saw the clear hesitation that masked his face for all but a split-second. He stayed silent for a brief moment, before moving on. **" I will not harm you, little one," **he told me gently, softly, _kindly._

But I didn't trust it one bit. Even the kindest of men knew how to lie, cheat and deceive.

It was like that one, silly quote that every fan had fought over before: Every Autobot had a Decepticon inside of them, whereas only a pint of Decepticons had an Autobot inside of them.

And Primus, the creator of all Transformers, was somewhere in between. He had a heart of an Autobot, but a processor of that of a Decepticon's. He was someone worth believing, but not someone worth trusting.

It runs in the family, I thought wryly.

"Then swear it," I told him. "Swear it on your spark."

Primus raised both of his optical ridges at me in bewilderment—and I guess the whole 'Swear it on your spark' thing wasn't really real—and he unsurely did so.

"Then swear it on the Pit"

Primus froze, looking extremely surprised and horrified by my words. **" Where...Where did you learn that from?" **he demanded, his orange optics shaped into wide, large circles.

I shrugged, not really sure where I had gotten the term. It was just... _there_. I had picked it up from a certain fanfic a few years back, but I didn't really know _which_ fanfic, much less the character that had said it. "I can't really remember...Primus," I said. "Besides," I added calmly, hoping against hope that it completely veiled the mocking tone in my voice, "That's none of your business, and it's not that important. What matters now is that you swear it on the Pit."

An expression folded itself apart on Primus's face, and I didn't need three guesses to know that he would _never_ do such a thing. **" I cannot do that."**

I felt that little feeling that lingered in my mind click in confirmation, and I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of bitterness once I realised exactly _why._ "And why not?" I asked him, my eyebrows drawn together in a mockingly pleading look. "Is it because you really will stoop low enough to actually kill me?" I felt the palm underneath me tense up, making me stiffen up as well. "Put me down."

 **" Little one..."**

"Put me down this instant."

 **" Meg Mal-"**

"PUT ME DOWN!" I screamed at him, my eyes firmly set in a fierce glare despite the wild and terrified expression on my face. "PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN THIS INSTANT, PRIMUS!"

 **" I will not harm you, little one."**

"Bullshit!" I cried back.

 **" I am not playing games with you right now, little one. Trust me not to harm you."**

"Trust?" I started, my forehead wrinkling even deeper. "TRUST?!" I exploded, my entire body shaking—but whether it was from the adrenaline that coursed though my veins and fuelled my entire body with utter anger and hatred, or from the fear that was just idly sitting in the front of my mind that Primus might actually crush me, I most definitely didn't know—as I clenched and unclenched my hands. "How can you expect ME to trust YOU when you can't even trust me yourself?!" I hollered at him, and watched as his orange optics gleamed in a warning sign.

 **" You will stop your childish tantrum this instant, Meg Malcolm," **he ordered me, and what gal he had to do so!

"Or what?" I hissed in a screechy voice at him. "You'll crush me? You'll drop me? Or maybe you'll electrocute me again? Not the first time you ever did so," I snarled, baring me teeth against him in a hopefully feral way.

The large godly mech stared down at me with a considering look on his face, and it took me a moment to register what exactly he was just about to do when his orange optics brightened into an electrifying yellow-orange shade.

But by the time I had enough sense to realise what exactly he was about to do to me, it had already been done. I felt an excruciating pain travel from the soles of feet to the tip of my head, and I screamed as I crumbled to the ground into a writhing mess of flesh and bones with orange electricity coursing throughout my entire body with the occasional sparks flying off.

I held my pounding head in my sparking hands, squeezing my eyes tightly as I screamed and screamed and screamed and—

And then, there was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but the excruciating pain had instantly vanished, only leaving a numbing sense in my entire body that made it almost impossible for me to move my limbs, much less even twitch.

There was a tense silence in the air as I panted tiredly, the expression painting my sweaty face not any different from painful. My entire body trembled as I tried to clear my blurry vision.

When the haziness in my head slowly cleared away, there was only one thing that rang loudly in my mind.

That. Motherfragging. Bastard. Electrocuted. Me.

 **" You were asking it for it," **the bastard's voice echoed irritatingly loud and clear in the stupid excuse of this stupid room we were stupidly in. **" And you said it yourself, it wouldn't be the last time I did so." **He told me with a reprimanding sort of tone in his voice.

I flickered my gaze up at him, but all my eyes could reach without me having to painfully move my neck was the sight of his throat. I gazed at the metal plates that hid the sensitive cables, wires and cords underneath it, and I mulled over the image of me ripping it apart as Primus writhed underneath me.

I watched in satisfaction as Primus winced, and I knew he had seen the very disturbing and gory image of me ripping his throat apart with his life energon flying everywhere.

The bastard deserved it, and here he told me he wouldn't harm me. What. A. Liar.

 **" I did harm you," **Primus told me. **" And for that, I sincerely apologise to you. I do not expect any forgiveness from you, but all I ask it that you listen to me," **he told me with a grave and regretful voice.

If I could, I would have spit at him. What utter bullshit he was telling me right now.

With a weary glance, I gave him a face that clearly read, 'Not like I have much of a choice.'

The corners of his dermas curved upward into a small, amused smile that made me want to snarl at him. **" I see you are starting to understand how I function."**

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, I sure did. You electrify people if they start screaming at you or if they're not listening to you ramble on and on about whatever you're about to say.

Primus merely smiled thinly at my thoughts, and I knew I didn't impress him one bit. Well, whatever, screw you. _You_ started it again, jackass. Just when I was starting to change my horrible opinion of you to less horrible, you just _had_ to fuck it over and change my opinion of you from 'horrible' to 'must eliminate.'

God or no god, you do _not_ do that. So what if you have the power to erase my existence? Beats spending another second being with _you_.

 **" I know this seems...unfair to you, regarding your current state right now,"** he told me, and damn right was he correct. **" But you didn't have any intention of listening to me once you started screaming your tiny, little head off," **he deadpanned, and I merely hardened my eyes at him.

Oh _fine_ , go right ahead for the 'tiny' insult. Whatever, asshole.

 **" I cannot promise to the Pit that I will not harm you," **he started gently, and if I could have I would have derisively scoffed at him. **" But I _can_ promise to the Pit that I will not kill you for as long as you agree to ****fulfil my request. "**

I slowly blinked at him, my fingers painfully twitching.

 **" And I trust you, little one," **he told me. **" I trust you enough to complete my request, and that is as much trust as I can give to anyone."**

My curiosity made my throat constrict, the need to speak blossoming in my chest, and I tried opening my mouth, but a sharp pain that surged towards it made me decide otherwise. Looks like I'll have to make do with Primus having to read from my mind instead, no matter how uncomfortable it seemed.

What exactly do you want me to do?

I heard the engine deep within his chest compartment rumble deeply, a sound akin to lightning raging in a storm. The corners of his optics crinkled, making his cheekbones—or was it plates now?—risen up to accommodate the soft smile on his face. **" May I ask you a very important question, little one?"**

Rolling my eyes, I sarcastically thought, Not like I have much of a choice do I?

 **" What you said...groons before I took you away from your universe...was it true?" **he tentatively asked me.

With the ability to now raise my eyebrows, I gladly did so.

Groon? And...which thing I said? I talked a lot, so you have to be more specific.

 **" A groon is equivalent to a single Earth hour," **he patiently explained to me, and I stored that little piece of information away. I never really understood the units of time for Transformers, nor did I really planned on memorizing them all. **" And...I wanted to ask if you really meant it, when you said that you'll end the war my creations had started."**

I slowly blinked again, furrowing my eyebrows deeply as I stared up at Primus's faceplates. Just like before, he had that same expression on his face. He looked so tired and weary and so full of pain that he just looked so, _so_ human that made every bitter feeling inside of me disappear in the blink of an eye.

For a long moment, he was no longer Primus to me. He wasn't the mech who had hurt my friends and who had taken me away from the life I'd been living and slowly building up. He didn't look like Primus, the sole creator of the Transformers race, brother to the Pit-spawner Unicron, nor the holy being who gave life to inanimate beings made out metal and electricity.

He was now a sentient being who knew pain, had _lived_ through pain for so very long. He looked like a man who had once been so happy, then had to face the reality that was life. He was a man that had stood up right after he'd fallen on his back, he was a man that had endured through the rough times, and he was a man who had tried to _help_. He was a brother who had exchanged death blows with his very own sibling, and even had to almost kill his brother to protect both himself and his very own creations; He was a father who had created his children and watched as each and every child he'd created slowly grow up, he'd watched as each one accomplished achievements, watched as each one smiled and laughed and cried.

And, most importantly, he was a father who had watched his children start a war. He'd watch each one of them run away in fear, or kill their very own brethren. He'd watched so many of his children draw energon and become so full of hate and rage, and watched most of them die in battle with so many regrets.

He'd watched his children become people he couldn't even recognise as the little ones they had been before.

My heart squeezed painfully at that thought. Even if we had started on the wrong foot, I knew deep down that Primus wasn't a bad mech. He was the farthest thing from evil. He had just grown smarter, and bitter, and sad, and much more desperate as time flew by. He and I were the same, and yet we weren't. We had both felt the pain of our loved one(s) dying—but unlike me who had only lost a father (a father that I could never have imagined living without, but was now gone because life was like that, and death came far too soon, and reality was always unfair), Primus had lost a _family_. He didn't have parents in the first place, and he had a brother who had grown envious and bitter of him, and now he didn't even have any children that he could connect to.

Primus was all alone.

I felt my heart squeeze itself even more, and I never noticed the plentiful of tears that streamed down my cheeks until I felt something wet pool underneath my right ear. My lungs constricted, and I avoided the sharp pain that surged towards my mouth as I opened it and sobbed openly.

He must have been so lonely. He didn't have a mother who would hug him when times were hard; he didn't have Eric or Nico who would teach him how to be strong and capable; he didn't have Abyss who would curl up against him and comfort him in her own special way; he didn't Ryan who would try to push the pain away by being the subject of his anger; he didn't have Ciara who would either cry with him or take him out to do something fun that involved near cardiac arrests.

He didn't have what I had. He was the one who had to comfort himself; he was the one who had taught himself how to be strong and capable; he didn't have any time to cry; he barely had any time to cheer himself up or drag himself out of misery.

As I thought long and hard about what he had gone through, I painfully decided.

This was a mech I couldn't lie to. I couldn't just tell him I didn't meant what I had meant. I couldn't break that small, little hope in his spark that maybe, _just maybe_ , his children had hope after all. I couldn't turn down this small, little, and insignificant question of his.

I had a heart, I wasn't a monster, and I knew what pain was like. So how could I expect myself to just say no to him? When the children he only had left were now suffering the pain I had gone through?

I trembled greatly as I let out a loud sob. I swallowed down my pride and the anger I had felt for him for what he had done to both me and my friends, and shakily whispered out.

"I did."

The happiness in his optics made me feel numb from the pain and agony clashing with one another inside of me. **" That's very spark-warming to hear," **he told me, his voice filled with so, _so_ much warmth that made my heart squeeze. Was that all it took to make him happy? Just by saying that I wanted to end that war?

Man, I felt like _I_ was the jackass right now.

 **" You see, little one, I have something very important to ask of you," **He started, trying to sound very nonchalant. Because of the grief and guilt that still welled up inside of me, I didn't have the heart to be suspicious of him. **" And it is a very, _very_ important task that I will give only to _you_ ," **he ended, emphasising his words.

I sniffled, my tear-stained cheeks feeling kind of stony and stiff that made me wonder how many times I had cried today. It was very odd for me to cry at least once in a day, much less several times.

 **" You see, little one, I want to...How should I term this?" **he murmured the last part, a deep wrinkle on his forehead. I tried moving my hand, and I winced once a surge of pain rejected me from doing what I wanted. I sniffed, disgruntled. **" You are familiar with the stories made by my children's supporters, am I correct, little one?" **he asked me instead.

I angled my neck a little, and was proud to say that I barely felt the pain that protested against my action. I blinked at him, and confirmed his question with a simple, "Ah." My throat still constricted when I tried forming words, so the best I could do was form syllables.

And then, I realised something very heart-stopping. Snapping my wide eyes up to stare incredulously at Primus, I could tell he had read that one, single statement that made me want to double over in laughter or stare at him in embarrassed horror.

You've read fan fictions?!

Primus rewarded me with a smile that showed all of his dermas as he exuberantly nodded. **" Yes. Yes, I have. I was disturbed by it in the beginning, but the plots used in the story really intrigued me, little one," **he explained to me.

My cheeks heated up, and I could pretty much guess I looked kind of like a tomato once again. It wasn't like I disapproved of Primus reading fan fictions, but I was more embarrassed at the thought of it—because c'mon, who would really expect the god of all Transformers to read fan fiction and _not_ be disgusted by it?—but at least there was a new fan in the ranks.

Feeling very curious of a little question that popped up in my mind, I used all of my confidence to ask him.

Have you read those in the...um, romance category?

Primus shuttered his optics at me, nonetheless he nodded slowly. **" I have. Though I am not too keen on the idea of my children either falling in love with humans or interfacing with one another in such...extreme methods," **he paused, his eyes dimming a little. My lips twitched upwards, the amusement clear on my face. **" But I _am_ interested in inter-faction romances," **he added, his optics brightening. **" And I am particularly fond of the ones featuring those of the same frame kind."**

I pursed my lips, furrowing my eyebrows a little bit. Frame kind? Was that supposed to be the war-build ones and the civilian-build ones? Or was it like the grounder and flier type?

Just as my mind was about to explode with a variety of terms that I only vaguely understood, Primus had enough grace to address my concerns. **" A frame kind is similar to the genders you humans use to differentiate from one another. For Transformers who posses both a spike and a posterior valve, we identify them as 'Mechs.' But for those who posses both an anterior and posterior valve, they are identified as 'Femmes,'" **he explained to me.

I slowly blinked and stored that particular lesson away, hoping that I'd be able to remember it―not that it was all that hard to forget, since I _was_ being lectured by the god of all Transformers about his children's own SexEd.

 **" And as a sub-category to frame kinds, we have the frame types―which are classified into two: the 'Grounders' who possess the ability to race over the terrain of Cybertron, and the 'Fliers' who are gifted with the ability of aerial travel," **he listed on, and I nodded. **" And then next, we have the frame builds which determines your livelihood. Grounders have a variety of them: civilian-build, military-build, war-build, miner-build, medic-build, and etc. Fliers have a much smaller selection, but still as big with the exception of the miner-build since they are not suited for such work underneath the ground where they would grow flight-antic."**

I felt incredibly amazed by this kind of information. Sure, it wasn't all that new to me since I knew what builds were and what Transformers considered as genders for their race, but it was still nice to know that I finally knew _something_ that wasn't just based off of fan superstitions or guesses. It had never really occurred to me that the Transformers came in such a large variety, because I only identified them as 'Oh, that one's a car' and 'Oh, that one has wings, so obviously it's a flier.' It felt kind of weird and refreshing to me once I knew the structure that made up the Cybertronian race and society, which was differed from my own humane society.

Because us humans weren't assigned a measly build or a job―we grew up what we had been raised as. We became our own people without the limitations of builds, and we picked our own job instead of being shoved into one.

I felt a bitter feeling swell up inside of me once I remembered that one comic book that told me all about Megatron's story. He had been sparked in the lower caste, had been assigned a miner-build once he'd been old enough to pick up a pickaxe, and then reformatted into a warrior-build so that he could fight in the accursed Gladiator pit which marked the beginning of what would become the Decepticon Warlord.

A shudder wracked throughout my entire spine as I remembered the cover page of the first issue of the _Transformers: Megatron Origin_ series. It had depicted the perfect image of Megatron―still wearing those stupid, black and yellow-striped obstruction signs over every plate on his large body that marked him as a lowly, working-class miner―standing over an Autobot he had attacked out of rage, his grey fingers stained with the pink life energon of the 'bot that now had a sparking hole in the middle of his chassis. Megatron had a smile on his face, but it wasn't one of happiness or triumph. It was a cold smile that first showed the insanity that had started to build up in his processors.

It still chilled me to the bone whenever I saw it―because that had been the mark of the creation of a Megatron who was more of a tyrant than a leader.

I moved my gaze upward, and I saw the pained expression on Primus's face which led me to the realisation that he had read my mind. _Again_. Without my consent. _Again_.

I frowned at him, immensely disapproving of his actions, but there was really nothing I could do to stop him. He _was_ Primus after all. With another question popping up in my head, I asked him again,

How about the caste system?

His reaction had happened all at once. His faceplates froze as he stared blankly at me, and then his expression morphed into one of disgust and anger and clear disappointment. But none of them had been aimed at me. No, it had seemed that the term 'Caste System' had repulsed him. A lot.

For a moment, I was very confused by his action. The question of why would he be disgusted by it had appeared in my head, until I realised that it had sounded so wrong.

With a blink, I felt like I was the most stupidest person in the entire universe. Why? Because _of course_ Primus had to be disgusted by the caste system, of all things. It had been a horrible system that the aristocrats had built, where those who were from the upper castes lived a life of luxury, never knowing what true pain and suffering was like; while those in the lower ones, most particularly the lowest of the low castes, had lived their entire lives fighting with one another for just a ration of energon, and had to work their afts off while all the while risking their entire lives mining for energon that they themselves couldn't keep.

It was a ruthless hierarchy, where the rich ruled and the poor grovelled. In plain hindsight to anyone who didn't live in Cybertron, it was _horrible_.

And frankly, _I_ hated it. Because if such a system never existed, then there wouldn't be an Autobot force and a Decepticon cause. And if those two factions didn't exist, then there wouldn't be a stupid 'Great War' to begin with.

But in plain hindsight as well, if there was never a 'Great War', then there wouldn't exactly _be_ a Transformers franchise.

Hmm. The pros and and cons, people. It should be weighed perfectly.

But I still disagreed with the caste system.

And judging by the red-eyed Primus in front of me, I could both fearfully and safely assure myself that he too agreed with my opinion.

 **" That," **The large mech spat out, his dermas having been pulled back to reveal his straight dentals. **" Will _never_ be considered a part of my creation's culture. It is a mockery of the freedom of my creations' lives, and it is the sole cause for why I am standing here this klik to ask for your help," **he told me with a serenely calm voice that had an edge to it.

 **" Which brings me to the main reason why I brought you here in the first place," **Primus immediately changed the topic, and I unquestionably let him do so. The poor mech must have a lot on his shoulders right. **" I have a very promising proposition to offer you, one that will benefit both you and me."**

I craned my neck a little to the left, a little gesture that told him to continue on.

The corners of his dermas twitched once, before it stretched widely into a grin that exposed all of his dentals. His perfect cheekbones rose, making the edges of his optics crinkle.

I had enough sense to narrow my eyes in suspicion at his rather evil-like grin. I didn't have that much guilt and shame welling up inside of me, so I had enough wit and brain cells to think for myself.

 **" How would you like to live in my universe?" **He eagerly asked me, and I felt the hand holding me bounce up and down a little.

I stared at him, his entire body tittering with what could be best described as excitement and enthusiasm. But he still had that evil, _evil!_ , grin on his face that made my heart stop.

(Goddammit did he look smoking hot with that grin.)

I opened my mouth, ignoring the numbing pain that surged towards it. "WHAT?!" I bursted out, my eyes as wide as little saucers.

Primus winced, and his grin soon transformed into a sheepish smile. **" It isn't _that_ bad, trust me on this one. Those silly stories your kind write about being in your situation, they're _exaggerating_ ," **he emphasised.

I gave him a nonplussed glare. Yeah right, my aft. Those stories about being reincarnated or transferred into the Transformers universe weren't exaggerating about _anything_. Those were true, hard cold facts that made me realise that being in your fantasy or dream world meant living a life full of danger.

Life was like that. You could never expect what it would throw at you next. And the only reason the main characters in those kind of stories were alive was because lady luck had twisted a few strings to let them live and also because they were smart and experienced to know what exactly they were doing.

I gave him a deadpanned look.

Sorry, but I'm not interested one bit.

Primus's smile faltered for a bit, but his smile returned with a hundred times much more vibrance than the original one. No, seriously. His smile could have been the sun itself and I had to deeply squint my eyes just to get a clear outline of his helm.

 **" Just think of the possibilities you'll experience if you're in there," **Primus insisted. **" You'll be able to meet all of my creations―and not only my Aubotic and Decepticonic children, but the others as well! You'll be able to fight for either faction, and might even gain a few companions along the way, and―if you're very, _very_ lucky―you might even capture a spark or two of my creations," **he waggled his optical ridges at me. **" And all you have to do for me is to end the war my children had started."**

I shivered at that terrifying sight. Primus plus eyebrow wiggling didn't exactly make the best pair. Ever.

I raised my head a little to stare impassively at him, as I thought to him.

Sorry, Primus. But you bribing me with your children won't really make me agree with your silly terms, and I doubt I'll even gain someone's interest, much less a _romantic_ one.

Primus's softened, and he looked like everything inside of him had been crushed. **" Is there really nothing that can change your mind? I have so very much I can offer to you, just tell me and I shall do so," **he pleaded with me.

I felt a little guilt when he said that, but I was still so very much adamant with my decision. There. Was. Just. No. Fragging. Way. I'll. Ever. Go. There.

"Then," I rasped a little, my throat constricting in protest, making me pause as I flinched my the pain. "Wh-y...Do-n't yo' do 't?" I asked him, forcing the words out of my mouth as if they had been crafted out of poison.

Primus vented loudly, his optics straying away from me to sadly look at the ground. **" I have sworn to the Pit to never intervene with my children's fates, even if it offlines every single one of them," **he told me.

I stared at him in incredulity and bewilderment.

Isn't sending me to your universe to stop their war the same thing?!

Primus gave me a smug look. **" I am not intervening with fate itself if I simply send you there to live in my universe. It is only a mere convenience that you have decided to stop the war."**

For a long minute, I was stunned into silence.

Primus merely continued to give me a triumphantly smug look, looking like he had just come up with the most brilliant idea in the entire galaxy of universes.

And then, after I had snapped out of my surprise, I gave him a deadpanned look.

You're insane, I mentally told him.

Air quickly came into his nose―and I guessed that was the sentient, metallic being's way of sniffing―and he pursed his dermas at me. **" My processors are functioning quite perfectly, little one. It is the processors of my children that are malfunctioning right now, for even starting that foolish war of theirs," **he clicked his glossa in disapproval. **" So? Have you mulled over this simple request of mine?"**

" _SIMPLE?!_ " I exclaimed, and was satisfied to discover that all that remained in the pain that constricted my throat was a numbing sensation that protested my speaking. "YOU CALL STOPPING A WAR BETWEEN THE PRIDEFUL AUTOBOTS AND THE MURDEROUS DECEPTICONS _SIMPLE?!_ " I really felt like crying then and there, because why couldn't he just understand that I―a simple, _simple_ human being that's barely the size of half of his palm, and can barely lift his _middle finger_ ―couldn't accomplish such a feat―AKA stopping a war that involved _even_ _more_ Transformers five or so times my height―within the span of my short lifetime, which I could pretty much guess barely reached sixty more years with how many close heart attacks I've been having today.

As if having read my thoughts and having prepared an answer to counter it, Primus excitedly tried to lessen my concerns. Keyword: tried. **" If that is all you're fretting over about, then I can simply remedy it!"**

Seeing how close his face was starting to get to mine, I inched a few spaces away from him, making a numbingly sharp sensation of pain to shoot up my right side. I grunted, but ignored it, since it didn't hurt as much as it had before.

"Sorry," I told him. "But I'm still not interested in the offer."

Primus still didn't lose that certain shine in his optics as he asked me, **" And why not, little one?"**

I felt a sharp, bitter feeling swell up in my chest. Narrowing my brown eyes into a scathing glare, I scowled at him. "Well, for starters, you _kidnapped_ me from my universe!"

Primus didn't deny my words, if that slightly guilty expression on his face told me anything.

"And then next, you _electrocuted_ both me and my friends!" I yelled at him. "And you won't even tell me if they're alive or not!" I resisted the temptation to spit on his palm, because he might not have enough patience for me then and might crush my body into a disgusting mess of flesh and organs with blood coating every single surface of his metallic palm. "And then just when I meet you and you promise not to hurt me, what do you do?! You freaking electrocute me _again_!" I frowned deeply at him.

Primus looked about to ready to voice out his own opinion, but I rudely cut him off again, because dammit! It was _my_ turn to speak right now!

"And _you expect me to agree_ with _you_?!" I demanded from him, my face flushing a weary shade of red as I panted. My throat felt a little tight and scratchy, and I guessed I had overused it too much.

There was a tense silence that permeated the air above us, and all Primus and I were doing was only staring deeply into each other's gazes―trying to decipher the other so that one of us could get what we wanted.

And then, Primus broke that silence with his answer. With a sheepish tilt of his head, he replied, **" I do."**

I stared at him blankly, before I ripped my gaze off of his form, unable to bear the sight of the guilty and hopeless expression that I could practically feel painting his faceplates right now. I sighed wearily as I gave him my answer, "Well, then you hoped wrong." My heart squeezed in protest, trying to persuade me to change my answer but I stood firmly by my decision.

I may have a heart, I may not be a monster, and I may know what pain was like―but I was a Malcolm child through and through. My father had taught me, ever since I was a little girl, to run when I see something I know I could never handle. I was never the type of of person run away, because running away was for sissies, and I had the heart and body of a soldier just like my dad and Eric. Running away was for mom and Nico, who had enough sense and wit to live for another day.

But right now, standing right before a godly being mad rout of pure metal, and being asked to stop a war that I _knew_ can easily destroy both me and everything that I had, can, and will hold dear to me―I didn't have much a choice than to tuck my tail in between my legs and call a retreat.

I didn't want to live my life like that. I didn't want to _die_ , nor did I want to see the characters that I had known since childhood _die_ as well.

I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't ready enough. I couldn't _handle_ it―not now, and surely not ever.

 **" Well then," **Primus's voice broke me out of my guilty reverie, and I turned my head to look up at him.

The sight of yellow-orange sparks flying from his optics had caught me off guard, and it took me a moment to recognise what exactly he was doing.

 **" It seems like I have no other choice then," **he vented loudly, the air that came from his mouth had brushed against my face, causing my long hair to billow a little. **" Such a pity that my hand would have to be forced like this," **he continued, but before I could open my mouth to scream at him in indignation, he had already placed his other hand over me, creating a barrier that prevented me from escaping.

The hands that formed a cage around me had a few crevices that light leaked out from, and I flickered my gaze from one spot to another to see what exactly he was planning on doing to me.

And then, not a moment too late, I saw it. It was brief and almost invisible at first, but it was _right there_.

It had started out as a faint buzz that filled the silence in the entire space I had been trapped in; then, it grew louder and louder until I could actually see the wisps of wind-like energy that flowed around me. It came in all sorts of colours. Red, blue, green, yellow, white, grey, purple, pink, and orange. It was only when one flowed a little too close to me and grazed my cheek that I realised that the wind-like energy around me were tiny bits of static that combined with others of a different colour and slowly grew bigger.

My cheek slightly stung from having been jolted by the dark blue wisp of energy that combined with a few others that greatly contrasted with its colour. Panic blossomed within my chest as I noticed that the wisps of energy were starting to get bigger and were slowly growing closer to me.

Just as I'd moved back, I felt something collide with my back, and a shudder racked my entire body as I literally felt electricity shoot up my spine. Twisting my body and ignoring the pain that screamed at me to stop, I saw that the area behind me had been completely contaminated by the same wisps of energy that had now grown into full out sparks of electricity that angrily buzzed and crackled at me.

I felt the crackling sparks surge right into my body and I both physically and mentally prepared myself for the excruciating pain that I _knew_ would come.

But only, it hadn't happened.

I opened my eyes, feeling a little reluctant and unsure of my action, and turned my head a little to glance at my back. I saw the sparks of electricity that danced right on the only exposed skin of my back, and I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. I could feel the electricity circulating throughout my entire back and―I gasped a little when I felt something throttle right through my chest, making me snap my head back to the front and look down at my chest where I could now see a few sparks of a variety of coloured sparks dancing right on the skin right above my breasts.

My eyes widened a little. I could still feel the electricity circulating throughout my entire body, but unlike the excruciating pain that I always felt when it traveled through my veins and sinews, all I felt was a sense of warmth that made me feel numb.

I felt a small, jagged line of lightning trickle into my head, and I closed my eyes with a pleasant sigh as I felt the electricity slowly surround my brain, making me feel drowsy and everything inside of me feel numb.

I opened my mouth to yawn quietly, not anymore bothering to cover my mouth from the unladylike action, and I allowed myself to be lulled to sleep.

I felt like nothing could go wrong as long as I was in this estrange cocoon of electricity; I felt as if I was in good hands, like I was back home in Blue Keys and being surrounded by all of my loved ones near the fireplace of Ciara's home. I was in the middle, with Abyss curled up into a ball on my lap, Ryan and Ciara were beside me with their cheeks pressing against mine and their lips forming a large grin, their parents were there as well, and Ryan's many siblings were curled up against him. My brothers were there as well, one of their hands placed against my shoulders, and my parents were there as well. Mom was smiling as she leaned against dad, her face full of love and content―an expression she had only worn when dad was around―and dad was grinning at her as if he'd just told the best joke in the world.

Everything felt so complete, so happy, so _perfect_.

And just before darkness had completely claimed me as theirs, I heard a voice that sounded kind of familiar to me.

 **" Sleep well, Meg Malcolm."**

And I gladly did so. My well-earned sleep was finally here, and I was plenty sure that it would never end.

* * *

 _Primus patiently waited until the colourful sparks flying off of his hands―that had been coated a pearly white with streaks of dark blue that looked more like grey ever since he'd been brought into existence―finally suppressed_ _itself into a bundle of energy that surrounded his hands with an otherworldly glow. Primus took a long moment to calm his frazzling and overheating gears that had been turned to its maximum speed to aid him when he began activating his divine powers._

 _Primus vented out deeply, his chest vibrating a little from the energy he had just used. He shuttered his optics, feeling his spark thrum with regret and bitterness for what he had just done. He inhaled deeply, counting for a couple of astroseconds, before he exhaled. He looked back down at his cupped hands, and prepared himself to uncover what would now be left of Meg Malcolm, the human female he had placed all of his hope in for the survival of his children for what was to come._

 _The joint in his right wrist twisted, and he slowly removed his right hand from his left one. His orange optics softened into a yellow hue once he caught sight of what remained._

 _A small sized globe of life essence floated serenely on the top of the dark coloured paddings of his left palm, and his dermas twitched into a kind smile once he saw the small globe slowly rotate on its axis. The petite globe glowed vibrantly, a multitude of colours shinning through the translucent casing that suppressed in into a circular shape._

 _Primus's optics glittered as he stared at the small beauty that was Meg's soul. The human sparkling's soul wasn't perfect or without imperfections. Its expandable glass casing had a number of tiny, light scratches running jaggedly across its form―but the mere number of colours her soul was producing and how vibrantly each shade shone made all the flaws on its casing look irrelevant._

 _Primus admired it, and he couldn't help but grudgingly admit that organic beings always did posses the prettiest and ugliest of sparks. And Meg's spark was a part of the prettier ones, second only to Solus's beautiful golden spark that glimmered every_ _colour._

 _Primus reluctantly ripped his gaze off of Meg's soul, knowing that now wasn't the time to admire it with how chaotic his very own universe was becoming. He vented to deeply and looked back at the revolving spark, not anymore entranced with its beauty. **" Come, little one," **he cooed comfortingly. The little spark brightened up even more, before hummed deeply in reply to his voice. **" Let us build your protoform," **he rumbled, and the spark dimmed a little before it hesitantly floated off of Primus's open palm._

 _It trembled as it floated on thin air, rocking from side to side as it tested its capabilities without a holder. It brightened up before it gracefully zoomed upwards where it would rest right beside Primus's dark blue helm._

 _Primus smiled endearingly at the obedient spark, making note of how meek and amenable it was compared to its owner._

 ** _" You shall be given the form of a femme to match your spark." _**_Here, Primus snapped his fingers, and a multitude of metal parts, wires and tubes appeared before him. Colored circuits and wires grouped each other into their respective area, delicately hooking up with their respective partners and curling up into small, compact bundles to_ _accommodate the limited space they would be given. Next, the metal parts flew to the center of the room for Primus to see how he would have to bend and conjoin each part to each other._

 _Once a recognisable female shape appeared before him, Primus snapped his fingers and a few more parts appeared: Several data chips, a spark casing and chamber, two valves, and a transforming cog. He moved his fingers to guide each piece to their proper places, making sure that none were loose and each were securely situated. He guided the delicate wiring and tubes to their assigned places, making sure that the narrow fuel lines would enter first followed by the delicate wiring that curled around it and securely hid it from view._

 _He flicked both of his index fingers up, and made sure that every piece had been properly hooked up and would be able to function without a single problem._

 _Primus controlled the lifeless protoform close to him, and he placed his thumbs on the featureless faceplates of the chassis before him. He let his divine power pump out through the tips of thumbs, and watched as features began developing. A pair of large, slanted optics that were for the meantime grey, a pair of thin optical ridges, a nose, cheekbones, a chin, and a pair of dermas (that Primus reluctantly made plumpy and well-defined, so as a small apology gift to Meg for tricking her.). Primus ran his fingers over the protoform's head, instantly installing softwares, systems, and powerful firewalls (that she would_ definitely _need.) into both her core and processor._

 _Primus ran his index finger down her chest―where two, smooth and generous bumps formed. He circled his fingers around her waist and hips, making sure that it wouldn't be as curvy as femmes these days were and perfectly resembled Meg's human body. He slid his finger to her rear, and politely looked away when two, smooth and generous bumps formed once again on it._

 _He sighed, internally wondering why couldn't he just give Meg a mech protoform to make this less awkward, then dragged his fingers down the protoform's remaining limbs. He snapped his fingers again, and watched in satisfaction as the sensor nodes activated, making the protoform's entire body gleam with a silver shine._

 ** _" Now," _**_He started, rubbing his palms together and creating a couple of angry sparks from the friction the rubber paddings in his palms had created. **" Time to create your build!"**_

 _The build, or what was much more referred to as_ _armour, immediately appeared in several metal pieces around the protoform. Primus glided his finger into a straight line, making the largest piece of armour among the set to swivel to the front._

 _He inspected the smooth metal then positioned it a couple of inches away from the protoform's torso. He squinted a bit then slowly began tearing the metal piece into eight more pieces. Two were used for the chest_ _―the larger one was tightly wrapped around the protoform's chest, furtherly emphasising the bust area and formed into a shape much similar to a bra with two metal straps forming around the shoulder and upper arm; whereas the smaller one attached itself right above the larger piece, on top of the chest and down to the navel. The upper part was shaped like the lower armour, but held much more density and didn't emphasise the size of the protoform's bust, and the lower part ended right in the middle of the protoform's waist. A large and deep, diamond-shaped crater was in the middle of the upper plating, and Primus was still deciding whether he should fill it out with even more metal or with something else._

 _Two more pieces of it were used for the shoulder_ _armour_ _―which were double-folded plates that pressed close to her upper arm and shoulder than flared out sharply at the tip, with a shallow diamond-shaped crater in the center._

 _One more piece was used to wrap around the neck joint with a thick strip in the middle to conjoin it to the chest_ _armour, with a shallow diamond-shaped crater in the middle._

 _Two more metal pieces were used for her hip joints_ _―one on each side of the hip and dipping low enough to create an upside down, triangular_ _armour that was double folded at the base with a shallow diamond-like crater in the center._

 _The last one was used to cover up her skids and interfacing equipment._

 _Primus intaked deeply, sucking up the air that he didn't really need for living purposes but just to cool down his overheating plates. He felt warmer than usual, which was a good thing since that meant his divine powers were really working. He exhaled, and silently wondered when was the last time he had created a Transformers body._

 **'Probably a few vorns before the Great War started...'** _he thought, before he shuttered his optics and went over to overview the protoform's body._

 ** _" Just the servos, tibulens, pedes and helm left,"_** _he grumbled then summoned the remaining metal pieces that were left._

 _He divided a large piece of metal into numerous, thin metal plates, then carefully wrapped each piece around the protoform's servos until not one single crevice showed the silver, sensitive metal form underneath. He summoned two pieces that would create the lower servo armour_ _―manipulating its shape until it curved completely around part between the wrist and elbow joints, then extruding a sharp, jagged piece to protectively shield the outer elbow joint, then Primus placed another layer of armour over it to densify it_ _―and then Primus made sure that two more, smaller pieces wrapped delicately around the protoform's hands, which had been designed with normal fingers that could always be retracted to form into sharp claws._

 _Primus then divided another large piece of metal into numerous, but much larger plates that would be used for the pedes and tibulens. Deciding on working with the pedes first since that would be much easier to form, Primus then began covering the protoform's pedes with several metal platings, making sure to be extra careful with the struts. After the protoform's pedes had been completely covered up in plating, Primus then began covering up her exposed tibulens_ _―making sure that a long, sharp jagged piece extruded from the armour protecting the knee joint to match the protective armour on her elbow. Primus added another layer of metal above it to densify it, then bounded her lower tibulens with two, thin metal strips. And, for good measure, he made another deep_ _diamond-like crater on the armour right above the ankle joint._

 _Primus surveyed the only part of her tibulens that had the protoform exposed, and decided against the notion to cover up her exposed outer and inner tibulen near the hip joint and interfacing panel. Served Meg right for insulting him in the first, and beside she had something to cover up the outer part anyways._

 _He looked at the remaining piece of metal left, then looked at the protoform's blank head that had an antenna sticking out on each side. He vented deeply before dividing the last slab of metal into several thin strips. Deciding to be a little creative and mischievous, Primus combined a few pieces together to create the basic shape of a helm; then, he created a small hole on each side so that the antennas would pop out, and then he covered up the hole by making a glass barrier around the antenna that sharpened at the tip. Primus then created a long piece that stretched out high in the middle so that both sides had a slanted piece cut out, then created a deep diamond-shaped crater at the base of where the helm ornament connected. He created a few more sharp edges at the bottom of the helm to protect her face, adding another layer to densify it, then placing a chin plate with a shallow_ _diamond-shaped crater in the middle._

 _Primus guided the helm piece over the protoform's head, then securely tucked it and locked it into place so that it wouldn't fall off._

 _He eyed the now armoured protoform, most particularly the empty craters that he had made but hadn't yet filled in. He hummed, wondering what he should fill it up with. Should he fill it up with another layer of plating, or should he embed a rare mineral into it? He inspected the_ _nanite-dead form. He didn't know what natural colour the armour would be yet, since that would be up to the spark who would be placed inside of the body, so it would be difficult to partner up a rare mineral into it._

 _If there was one thing Primus was, it was that he wanted the colours to clash with each other perfectly. Because no creation of his would be a walking disaster of colours under_ his _watch._

 _Not after what Alchemist Prime's colour combinations were like._

 _Primus shuddered. He'd_ definitely _wouldn't want such a...walking disaster to happen again._

 _Primus stared at the lifeless frame, pondering what he should use to fill up the empty space left. He used his wide knowledge of the universe to search for an appropriate material to fill it up, then smiled widely when he found something that fit his tastes._

 ** _" I can work with that,"_** _he hummed as he summoned the exact same material he had gifted Solus in the moment of her creation. Cosmonite_ _―_ _an almost indestructible-like mineral that was one of the key elements that created the Forge of Solus. It only came in one_ _colour, and that was a shade of yellow most similar to platinum gold._

 _With a flick of his wrist, the cosmonites easily separated itself into several pieces, manipulating its shape until it could properly fit the empty craters in the frame's build. Being extremely gentle Primus embedded each cosmonite shard into each empty space, and nodded in satisfaction once they all clicked and locked into place._

 _Primus took a step back to admire his newest creation, then glanced at the glowing spark bouncing right beside his helm. His dermas lifted up into a smile, and he gestured towards the frame. **" Take a good look at it, little one. This will be your new body from now on," **he rumbled soothingly._

 _The spark twittered, its illumine brightening up. It hummed pleasantly as it glided towards its new casing, spinning around and inspecting every single inch of the lifeless frame. It's energy field resonated with various emotions._

 _Happiness. Content. Appreciativeness. Love. Mischief. Excitement. Anticipation. Fear._

 _Primus's orange optics softened at the final emotion, and he expanded his own energy field to sooth the little one's weak one. **" It'll be alright, little one," **he rumbled deeply to the spark that had floated back to him. **" A new frame doesn't always mean you'll lose who you once were."**_

 _The spark responded with warmth and gratitude, before it tittered for a moment then flew back to the empty protoform. It prodded the frame's chassis, excited to integrate itself into the large, femme frame made out of metal._

 _Primus smiled gently at the spark, but he pushed aside the little one away from the chassis._

 _The spark thrummed, confused and bewildered. It wanted to get in now! It wanted to feel alive again!_

 _Primus chuckled. **" Just let me give your frame its own type, little one," **he told the bright spark, who dimmed for a moment before obediently backing off._

 _Primus guided the almost complete protoform closer to him, and while inspecting the sleek build, he ran the tips of his fingers down its length. He watched as a few parts came into existence and amalgamated themselves into the lifeless frame, as well as the systems needed to activate these parts._

 _He let the frame float out of his hold, and he backed off to inspect the newest additions to the build. He hummed deeply, immediately approving what he'd done._

 ** _" It has been several vorns since I've allowed a frame type like this to have come to existence,"_** _he rumbled deeply. **" But consider it as a little gift from me to you, for all the trouble I have and will cause to you from now on," **he nodded._

 _Hopefully, Meg will graciously accept his little donations to her new body, and she wouldn't have to find the need to scream her little helm off even more at him._

 _The little spark humming loudly to his left had snapped him out of his processors, and Primus gave the globe of life one last glance before he gestured towards the frame._

 ** _" Go,"_** _he motioned, guiding the spark closer to the frame. **" Become one with your new body, little one.** **"**_

 _The spark's energy field hummed loudly_ _―excitement making its entire form vibrate with giddiness_ _―and it lightly bumped against the frame's chest compartment. The spark hummed as it moved a few inches away once the frame's chest began opening up from the center, and it brightened up when it caught sight of the spark casing that would soon become its new home._

 _It thrummed lowly, electrical sparks flying off of the glass that kept all of its life essence bundled up into a globe, as it manuevered past the delicate wirings and energon lines that shielded the spark casing._

 _The spark lightly bumped against the casing, flying back a few inches once it opened for it. The spark twittered excitedly, but it hesitated to get into its new home._

 _Primus tilted his helm downwards to stare bemusingly at the spark, his optical ridges drawing together and making his optics narrow. **" What seems to be the matter, little one? Is the frame not to your liking?" **He asked, skeptical._

 _The spark's energy field widened a little_ _―and just as Primus had detected mischief in the spark's energy field, the little one swiftly glided away from the lifeless frame and flew straight towards Primus's faceplates._

 _Surprised, Primus leaned back, but the little spark continued on before it nestled lovingly against his cheek. Primus shuttered his optics, incredulous with the situation as the spark seemed to...nuzzle(?) the plating on his cheeks._

 _Then, too further his shock, the little spark bumped against his cheek, sending a few sparks that seeped through the tiny spacing between the plates of his cheek. Primus jolted his face away from the spark, his optics widening a little bit as he placed his palm against his throbbing cheek._

 _He stared incredulously at the spark_ _―that had brightened up and began tittering, its energy field radiating the mischief and triumph._

 _The spark floated in front of his faceplates for an astrosecond_ _―seeming to stand in front of him with a smug air_ _―before it swiftly darted back into the frame's insides and quickly situated itself into the sleek frame's spark casing._

 _Primus watched as the frame's chest compartment closed up with a loud click, the once lifeless and grey shell immediately lighting up with a variety of coloured sparks flying off of its frame; He watched as light seeped through the open spaces between the platings of the frame, and heard the beautiful sounds of systems activating to life and humming with a steady beat; He watched as the frame's dull grey_ _colour slowly shifted into something brighter and much more vibrant; He watched as nannies set to work into making its chassis look presentable and something a femme would be proud of; He watched as the once dead frame slowly transformed into an online femme with the build suited for a warrior._

 _But the thought of his newest creation only settled into his processor a klik later, since he was too preoccupied with what the little spark had done._

 _Did...Had Meg's spark just..._ electrocuted _him? Well, it wasn't really that painful and Primus barely felt the sting in his cheek, but_ still!

 _It had electrocuted him!_ Him!

 _Torn between feeling amusement for the spark's actions or a little peeved with the spark's vengeance, Primus settled with feeling proud of his work with the femme's frame._

 _It had been a good thing that he had chosen the cosmonite for the frame because the light yellow shade of the mineral would blend well with the femme's colour coordination. Primus hummed deeply as he inspected the femme's teal frame with a few splashes of dark purple to highlight it. It wasn't the prettiest colour combination that a Transformer could have, but it was good enough._

 _His orange optics drifted up to the femme's faceplates, and his optics softened as he ran a thumb across the femme's cheeks, and rumbled deeply in satisfaction once he felt the warmth thrumming underneath the metal plates._

 _He allowed a tiny amount of his divine powers to trickle to the tips of his fingers, causing a few arcs of orange electricity to spark into the femme's helm._

 _The femme's frame shuddered, her spinal strut arcing up into a complete semi-circle, and with a sharp intake of her vents, the femme's optics onlined for the very first time._

 _A variety of colours passed through her optics. Black, white, pink, red, purple, violet, sky blue, dark blue, blue green, green, yellow green, yellow, then it finally settled on one specific colour._

 _Orange._

 _The femme's bright, yellow-ringed orange optics brightened as her gaze met with Primus's. She shuttered her optics, her light pink dermas opening and closing as she tilted her teal-colored helm a little to convey her confusion._

 _She clicked experimentally, not really knowing how to communicate yet without any of her past memories incorporated into her processor._

 _And then, finally, the orange sparks arcing off of her helm subsided until all that was left of them was an orange glow that surrounded the confused femme's helm._

 _The femme's optics dimmed a bit, reviewing the message that popped up in her processor and accepting the file that had been sent to her. Her optics completely offlined as the newfound information downloaded into her processors, her previous body's memories being stored away into the powerful memory chips that Primus had installed into her frame._

 _Finally, the femme onlined her orange optics, and she looked up at Primus with confusion._

 _"P-Primus?" The femme_ _―Meg_ _―spoke up, her voice being accompanied with a few lines of static. "W-Wha...?"_

 _Primus's dermas twitched upwards as he trailed his fingers down Meg's faceplates, orange sparks of electricity emitting from the tips of his fingers. **" Go to sleep, little one," **he rumbled soothingly, and Meg's optics slowly began closing, the orange electricity clouding her entire processor made it impossible for her to refuse the recharge her body was being forced into. **" Your time to online will come, but not now. Now sleep, little one, and recharge well."**_

 _"P-Pri..." Meg trailed off, before her voice changed into static as her systems had been forced to shut down and regulated into a mode suited for recharge._

 _Primus tapped the side of Meg's intricate helm three times, and watched as a transparent mask made out of shatterproof glass slid down to cover her faceplates. He rubbed his thumb against the smooth surface of the grey mask, and he allowed a few sparks of orange electricity to thrum off of his fingers and seep into the spaces that the mask would hide in once the command for it to deactivate would be given._

 _After a long pause of solemn silence, Primus eventually let the femme go. Without a word, he clicked his fingers and almost immediately, a large boulder appeared right before him, its axis floating above the ground by just barely a couple of inches. His hand wafted right above the center of the grey and rocky asteroid, the tips of his fingers barely grazing the rough terrain._

 _As if having some sort of code to activate it, the asteroid unimaginably split open from the center, revealing the smooth space pod that it hid from inside._

 _Primus worked quickly, gently lifting Meg's new body from thin air, and he barely gave a single, displeased reaction from how many tons she currently weighed. He placed her in the smooth and ice cold interior of the space pod, shifting her limbs several times to properly situate herself in the metal transportation device._

 _Primus's hand brushed her tibulen, and he hesitated. His orange optics flickered upward and landed on the recharging femme's covered faceplates. His optics softened, and just as he was about to brush his fingers against her mask, he forced himself to pull away from the snoozing femme._

 _There was no turning back anymore. He had already made his choice once he'd converted Meg's entire body into a great amount of life essence that was just sufficient enough to turn it into a Transformer's spark. He had already chosen the lives of his children to the happiness and future of a single being that had once been organic._

 _But that didn't mean Primus had watched as the space pod slid shut. He had turned his helm away to stare remorsefully at the ground as he heard the clicks and whirrs of gears processing as the space pod's outer shell_ _―the asteroid disguise_ _―slammed shut with a deafening sound that made his audio sensors vibrate painfully for just an astrosecond._

 _He lifted his chin up to sombrely stare at the disguised space pod, and he dared to rub the space pod's rough exterior. He shut his optics, loudly venting out as he reminisced his earlier meeting with Meg._

 _A young human femme who had instantly registered him as a threat once she'd seen him, and instead of cowering away in fear she had instead took up a defensive stance with her fists protectively raised up. It had showed that she wasn't one to trust easily, and that her creators had taught her well. She was also quick to react, acting before asking, and had immediately leapt up to attack him once she'd connected the dots and realised that he had been the one to harm her friends. It showed that she was a brave fool, but a fool that loved her friends dearly. And when she'd found out that he was Primus, and had tried to act as politely as she could, it had showed that she was smart enough to know when to act properly. And when she was keen on the idea of his children's culture, it showed the undying curiosity that she and her species possessed._

 _When Primus saw how she acted, he had been reminded of someone he had and will always hold dear, but one that will never return the same sentiments he held._

 _Primus vented again, erasing any thoughts of_ him _from his processor and tried to return his attention back on Meg._

 _She had seen the war_ _―even though it was from watching it on on of those 'television' sets her species had invented, or reading it on the internet from books_ _―she had seen the war nonetheless and wanted it to end immediately, and that was all that mattered._

 _Primus needed_ _someone who could help his children. It wasn't like his chosen Prime wasn't a good enough leader_ _―frag, he might as well have been one of the best_ _―but he was the sole commander of an entire faction. He had enough on his shoulders already: Looking after the entire Autobots army and keeping each and every Cybertronian in check and well-accounted for, fighting against the Decepticon force while trying his hardest to limit the offline count,_ searching _for a way to have a truce with his chosen and lost High Lord Protector so that the war would just end..._

 _No, he already had enough on his shoulders to even think about the others._

 _The others..._

 _Primus felt his spark clench painfully once he remembered the others. Mechs and femmes that weren't a part of either faction, either having had defected or had never been a part of a faction to begin with. The ones who didn't have any other to look after them; the ones who slowly starved to death; the ones who had been left to rot and fend for_ _themselves whilst the other two factions were too busy fighting and wasting supplies for their own cause..._

 _The **Neutrals**._

 _Primus needed someone who would look after them, take_ care _of them, show them a way to start living again, and pull them out of the dark hole every one of his children had created and fallen into._

 _And, by some godsend (no pun intended), Primus had found that someone in one squishy organic being called Meg Malcolm._

 _She was almost everything he needed._

 _She had enough compassion for his children to guide them out of the dark holes they had placed themselves into. She was smart enough to know the risks and dangers of a war zone, yet was foolishly brave and stubborn enough to protect and fight for the people she loved. And, she too knew what losing someone important was like, but had enough will power to drag herself away from the black hole she had almost fallen into._

 _Primud didn't need a warrior. No. He didn't need someone with immense physical strength that could take down ten heavy, war-built mechs all at once. He needed someone who had enough will power that could change hundreds of thousands of mechs._

 _Primus needed a fighter, never a warrior. He needed someone to fight for those who couldn't._

 _He opened his optics, gazing down at the space pod with hope blooming in his spark for the femme that laid within. He didn't trust her with his entire spark, but he believed her with everything he had. He believed that she could stop the war and help his children._

 _He believed that she could give his children one last hope that they wouldn't be doomed._

 ** _" I'm sorry, little one,"_** _He murmured to the sleeping femme. **" I'll make it up to you. **_**That _I can swear to the Pit,_ _"_** _he vowed, and felt the shackles of the oath wrap around his spark._

 _Swearing to the Pit meant risking a shard of your spark. It meant risking_ _something that had once been a part of you. However, to Primus, swearing to the Pit meant risking every single divine power he had inside of him. There was only one way to break the oath, and the only way one could was when the one you swore the oath to had called it off._

 _And Primus doubted his brother would ever call off the oath he had sworn to never interfere with his children's lives._

 _Primus vented again, internally wondering how many times he had vented today._

 _He rubbed the rough exterior of the space pod one last time, before he summoned his divine powers to the tips of his fingers. Calmly closing his optics, a bright flash of light seeped through the protective coverings of his optics and he felt the object underneath the paddings of his palm disappear._

 _When the light died down, he opened his optics and stared blankly at the empty space before him._

 _He wondered briefly how long it would take before he'd meet Meg again, but he doubted it wouldn't take too long. After all, they were connected now and nothing could ever break the bond that their sparks shared, even if she died._

 _He frowned slightly, feeling his shoulders droop slightly as he realised how empty and quiet it was without another being to fill the empty void of his personal domain._

 _Primus sulked for a moment, before a brief thought entered his processor. With a click of his fingers, he heard something pop into existence right in front of him. He crouched down, feeling the gears in his tibulen achingly creak, and mulled over the thought that he_ might _be getting too old._

 _He scoffed. His brother was just being delusional when he'd said that._

 _Primus returned his_ _attention to what he'd summoned, and inspected the...bags of meat lying down just a few meters away from the tip of his pedes._

 ** _" Well," _**_He drawled. **" Time to get started..."**_

* * *

 **AN:** For all them peeps who have reached this destination, let me reward you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Even if you scrolled down and skipped all that description above that I had worked so hard on (*trying to make you people feel guilty :D*), it's alright... I'm not hurt... I'm not feeling my heart pop... Huhuhuhuhuhu. DX

But for those who DID read those descriptions or went back to reread it haha, you deserve a pat on the back, another kiss, my eternal love and worship, a membership to the Jazz and Soundwave cult that has yet to become true, and... yah. But still! My love costs a lot dammit!

Oh, and here's a little gift from me to you guys... I bet you'll love it. Be warned, though. I'm not the best artist out there, haha. :)

art/In-Which-I-m-One-Heck-Of-A-Femme-546304132

* * *

If there was one thing he loved the most when being on the highest level of Cybertron―where those of the noblest and richest of high-class Cybertronians had once lived in―it would be the beautifully dark sky hovering above their helms. Being a mech from one of the lower levels, he had never taken a single glimpse of the sight of the endless sky that were only reserved for those who were lucky enough or rich enough before. But now that there weren't _any_ form government to establish and uphold the strict laws and restrictions for each mech of a specific level, there was no enforcer to stop him from walking past the once grand gates that would lead to the very top level of Cybetron.

It was times like this that he thought that the war happening was a _good thing_ , because every Transformer left alive on Cybertronian right now were equals without that fragging excuse of a caste system to divide them.

The spark within his chest hummed deeply, causing his chassis to briefly vibrate.

Almost immediately, the positive outcomes of the war disappeared from his processor, only to be replaced by the negative ones. Images of the war happening flashed through his processor: Mechs fighting on the battlefield, each one shedding energon and many of them offlining from a fatal blast or a sharp pierce of an energon blade going right through their chassis; both major and minor cities slowly being destroyed or obliterated in barely a klik with a grand explosion that killed thousands; the destruction of the Autobot base that had held the last hundreds of sparklings and younglings, the last hope that there would be a future for Cybertronians; the mechs and femmes that weren't a part of either faction either dying slowly from energon deficiency or by the cruel hand of a Decepticon.

He felt a dark feeling settle underneath his spark, and the frown on his dermas deepened as he remembered the utter chaos and suffering that enveloped all those that had been left on Cybertron.

And still is, he reminded himself. Because though the Autobots and Decepticons had abandoned Cybertron to move their war somewhere else and to scavenge for energon, those that had been left were left to fend for themselves and keep themselves alive with scraps.

He vented deeply, and a red message pinged in his processor. He closed it and overrided the warning notifications that told him his energon tank was critically low to stop appearing.

He didn't need to feel even more bad for himself than he already is.

"You okay, VP?" His companion asked him, and Venompoint realised that his companion had ceased his annoying babbles of whatever he and been talking about―something about Minion offlining another challenger in the Gladiator Arena, and how brutal and quick the poor mech's death had been and how it should have been slower so that the poor mech would live through the agonising pain before he shut down for good―and was now looking at him in worry and concern etching his faceplates.

Venompoint felt his spark decide between clenching painfully at the ugly expression on his companion's faceplates, or flutter in joy at the attention he was receiving from Domino. Shoving that disgusting feeling away and to never be indulged ever again, Venompoint flickered his red optics to stare down at the smaller mech.

"I'm functioning, aren't I?" He snapped. "And wipe that stupid look on you face, it makes you look even uglier," he sneered.

Domino's bright blue optics, that were a complete contrast from his own dark red ones, flashed briefly with pain that made Venompoint want to take back his words for but a moment. But then, the indigo and yellow mech's face brightened up as he forced his dermas to shape themselves into a cheery smile.

"Haha, sorry, VP," Domino laughed loudly. "But you looked like you were in pain for a moment there, so I just had to ask."

Feeling his spark thrum loudly at him in disapproval, Venompoint merely vented out deeply, "I'm fine, Domino. I was just thinking when's the next joor we'll be able to get our next cube of energon."

The bright expression on Domino's faceplates faltered, and Venompoint got a brief glimpse of the dark look on his partner's face, before he forced himself to smile again. "I'm sure we'll get one within the orn, VP. It'll be impossible not to get one, with all the scrap laying around here. And plus, if we ask and do Rouge a favour, she'll definitely give us one!"

Remembering the teal-colored femme that Domino was so fond of never failed to bring a surge of jealousy to his spark, but forcing the dark feelings swirling within him down, Venompoint rolled his optics and deadpanned, "We can't always rely on her, glitch-head, she has enough responsibilities with having to deal with Crashthrough and Vitallium."

Domino jutted out his bottom derma, pouting. "I already knew that, VP! But Rouge doesn't really care whether we ask for energon or not as long as we don't damage our frames too much, so there's no reason not to ask! And she's a really good person so there's just not way-"

Venompoint merely shuttered his optics, cycling air through his systems for a couple of astroseconds, before he opened them to cool down his ire at his companion. "You're babbling again, Domino," he reminded tightly.

Unfortunately for him, Domino didn't seem to hear him and continued to waste his energy with talking as long and as loud as he could.

Knowing that he would expend even more unwanted energy by ramming his energon blades through Domino just to shut him up, and that he would never ever forgive himself for doing such a thing despite how annoying the little glitch was, Venompoint merely shut down his audio sensors and crouched down to begin digging through the scrap that had once been grand buildings that mechs of the higher class used to live in.

He paused when he found a darkly coloured symbol engraved on a slab of metal. He pushed aside the fragments of cracked steel and iron away from the slab of metal, then brushed the dirt off of the slab to get a clearer image of the symbol.

He thinned his dermas as he ran the tips of his fingers along the deep outlines of the symbol of Kaon. Unlike the other symbols of most city states, Kaon's symbol was filled with vicious tips and rough, jagged sides that perfectly depicted each and every Cybertronian that had originated from it.

And it was the symbol that perfectly suited the city state where the cruel Decepticon leader had originated from.

Venompoint knew who Megaton was―Pit, everyone on Cyberton knew who _he_ was, and greatly feared him for the destruction he had left in his wake with the help of his subordinates―but unlike most of the ones left alive on Cybertron, he knew exactly what the warlord looked like in person. Frag, he had even _spoken_ with him.

He had been inspired by one of Megatron's speeches, and had planned to enlist himself into the Decepticons to fight for their cause. Unfortunately for him, he had been...backtracked and had much more important things to do rather than join a silly war and probably offline in a vorn.

(*venting roughly* Like stalking a certain small, indigo and yellow coloured enforcer with a sadistic streak *venting roughly*)

Lost in his thoughts, Venompoint never really heard Domino calling out for him until he was roughly shoved to the ground faceplates first.

Grunting and internally screaming in anger at the deep dent on his chassis, Venompoint pulled his faceplates off of the metal slab he had smacked into. He growled darkly as he wiped the dirt and grime stains off of his faceplates. Snapping his helm to face Domino, he glowered with malicious thoughts entering his processor.

"OI! What the frag was that for?!"

Domino blatantly ignored him and kept panicking while wildly pointing at something in the dark sky of Cybertron, his dermas opening and closing as static escaped his voice box.

Venompoint growled again, and he reached up to wrap his long, sharp claws around Domino's dark indigo upper servos to bring him down with him. Domino yelped as he fell to the ground and landed on his aft, and his attention immediately shifted from the rapidly coming destruction to his irate companion. Thinning his derma plates and shrinking as far as he could, he fearfully stared up at Venompoint who was leaning over him with a viciously scary glare.

"What's your fragging malfunction, you glitch-head?!" He demanded, red optics narrowing even further as wide blue ones widened.

Domino's optics flickered from his friend's furious faceplates, and he jutted out his bottom derma to pout in an apologetic manner at him, before his attention was once again captured by the flaming meteor heading in their general direction.

He raised his servo and pointed at the meteor with his index finger, a terrified expression lighting up his features.

Venompoint paused in his rage once he saw the absolutely _terrified_ look that encased Domino's faceplates. Never before had he seen the smaller mech look so afraid unless either one of them were fatally damaged, or if something horrifying was coming towards them.

A faint roaring sound entered his audio sensors, and with a foreboding feeling swirling in his spark, he craned his neck joint to look behind him.

He paused as he stared at the flaming ball of matter that streaked right through Cybertron's rather pathetically thin thin atmosphere and was now heading towards them at speeds that could put that Autobot data courier Blurr to shame. His entire frame stiffened up as he stared stupidly for a brief moment, his processors and logic modules working at full speed to comprehend the image before him, before his joint memory took complete control over his entire frame.

Tightening his hold on Domino's servo, Venompoint immediately stood up to his full height which forced the smaller, indigo and yellow coloured mech to stand up to his pedes as well. The larger, black and violet coloured mech turned on his heel and began scrambling away, dragging Domino along with him.

The two Cybetronians ran as fast as their pedes could go, and when Venompoint turned his helm to look behind, his normally narrowed optics widened with alarm. He turned to face Domino, who had looked back as well and was now staring at him with fear etched across his faceplates.

"TRANSFORM!" Venompoint hurriedly roared to Domino, knowing very well that their alt modes would be able to travel at a much faster speed and if they sustained any damages than it wouldn't be that fatal unless it was a direct hit from the meteor.

The two Cybetronians immediately transformed, and they didn't waste any time with pumping as much energon into their wheels or exhaust pipes to assist in their retreat.

A klik later, the relatively small meteor hit land just a couple of kilometers away from the fleeing Cybetronians. An astrosecond passed, and the rough, metal terrain of Cybetron groaned as the meteor furrowed into its surface. The force of impact of the meteor created a large force of air to exert from its burning body, and Venompoint and Domino yelped in panic as they were suddenly thrown off their bases and went tumbling down onto their roofs.

Several kliks passed, and neither Transformers showed any signs of life as they laid still and unmoving as the meteorite's flaming body slowly cooled down and began excreting dark, grey smoke that would furtherly harm the planet's atmosphere.

Finally, after what could have passed for as a groon for a Cybertronian, one of the mechs transformed back into their bipedal mode and his optics glowed brightly, signalling that his systems were functioning properly after a short recuperation from the blast. After a klik, the mech's optics shuttered, and the optical rings glowed a neon blue before it decreased in scale as the Cybertronian focused his vision.

"Ooooow," Domino groaned, rubbing a particularly deep dent that had appeared on his scandalously curvy helm that would have kicked him out of the Enforcer's Division if he had worn it in the past. "What in Primus's designation hit me...?" He muttered, narrowing his light blue optics to survey the surroundings.

He stared at the demolished metals and the occasional cement blocks, but didn't think too deeply of it since the higher levels of Kaon always looked like an abandoned wasteland after the Autobots and Decepticons had left to bring their stupid war somewhere else.

Domino's yellow striped, indigo doorwings hiked up in interest once he saw the dark grey smoke rising up from a source that was just a few kilometers away from him. His blue optics widened in excitement, and he twisted his body to beam brightly at Venompoint at the discovery he had just found.

However, at the shocking sight of Venompoint's alt mode still lying down at the top of his roof and showing no signs of transforming, Domino's doorwings drooped down and he swiftly scurried towards his friend to check up on him, because who knew what systems had crashed from the force of the meteorite's impact.

Huffing, Domino flipped the black vehicle with violet highlights back onto its base. He winced when the heard Venompoint land on his undercarriage, since his alt mode operated with gravitational sensors and didn't require wheels. He smiled mischievously. "What VP didn't see, he will never know," he mused as he kneeled down on one knee and began popping his friend's hood open.

He eyed the metal platings that hid the spark casing from view, and reluctantly shifted his attention to the wires and gears that surrounded that part. He hummed thoughtfully as one of his hands delved into the sensitive wirings. He paused once he felt the tips of his fingers brush against the very bottom of it, and he began trailing his fingers to search for that button that would reactivate his friend's systems into functioning properly.

Once his fingers bumped against something, Domino grinned widely as he curled his index finger around a couple of wires before pushing down on the button.

Once he felt his friend's frame start warming up, Domino pulled his hand out, causing a few wires from down below to travel to the top. He snickered quietly as he closed Venompoint's hood down with a loud sound. He waited for a few kliks, idly looking around in interest at what he could scavenge and bring back to Brickbrack in exchange for a couple cubes of energon for he and Venompoint.

When he heard the tell-tale sounds of gears transforming, Domino craned his neck joint to stare innocently at Venompoint who had transformed back into his root mode.

"Slag," the larger mech grunted, rubbing his sore chassis, and internally wondering what had made it hurt so much. "I feel like someone just rammed their fragging energon sword into my chest." Then, the dark coloured mech's red optics met Domino's innocently wide blue ones, and he narrowed his optics in suspicion. "Or maybe _someone_ decided to frag up my internal circuitry, _again_."

Domino merely hummed, his engine revving as he turned his helm to stare at a pile of rubble with great interest. "You probably banged your chassis a little too hard when you hit the ground, VP. I know I did," he smoothly lied, not showing an ounce of mischief as he stretched his legs to stand up to his full height.

"Yeah, and Rouge decided to go out one day," Venompoint sarcastically retorted, rolling his optics. "How many fragging times do I have to tell you _not_ to do slag like-"

"Look, VP! The meteor landed over there!" Domino beamed, interrupting his already irate friend and adding even more ire to Venompoint's temper. However, before Venompoint could snarl darkly at the smaller mech, said smaller mech had wrapped his hand around his larger servo and began hauling him towards the source where the smoke was coming from. "Let's check it out!" He exclaimed, rather than suggesting.

Venompoint growled, trying his damn hardest to tug his servo back. When that didn't seem to work against Domino's temporary steroid-like strength, he dug the heels of his pedes into the ground, causing a couple of unwanted screeches that made any mech's working audio sensors wince. Domino ignored his friend's resistance; instead, he continued walking towards the point where the smoke kept coming from.

"Let me go this instant, Domino, or I swear I'll frag you up so hard that Vitallium won't be able to put you back together after I'm through with you," Venompoint snarled, resorting to digging his sharp talons into Domino's lower servo guard.

Domino winced at the sharp pain of having one's armour getting pierced in the middle, but he summoned enough energy to turn his helm and reward Venompoint with a flirtatious smile and a sultry wink. "I'll be waiting for it then," he purred playfully, and his sexy smile transformed into a triumphant grin once he saw his friend's faceplates flush a pretty shade of pink.

Venompoint stared dazedly at the back of Domino's helm, not really sure if what he'd heard was correct or wrong. But when he almost tripped over a piece of some mech's disfigured carcass, Venompoint snapped himself out of his daze and caught himself before he could make an outright fool of himself. He flushed even brighter when he heard Domino snicker, and he growled dangerously at the smaller mech.

"S'not funny," he grumbled, his cheek plates still a pinkish hue.

"It is to me~" Domino sang, his voice ending in statics that made the both of them wince at the high pitch.

Venompoint snapped a glare at the smaller mech, and reminded him, "Never sing again."

Domino frowned, but he sulkingly agreed since he knew he didn't have the best voice. "I won't"

"Now let me the frag go."

" _Never._ "

Venompoint's engine rumbled threateningly despite the way his spark hummed with appreciation for Domino's choice of words. He growled, internal berating himself for feeling like this around the glitch-head. They were partners, for Primus's sake! Not romantically inclined ones either...

(Though his spark desired it to be.)

"Look, VP!" Domino's voice snapped him out of his musings for the second time that day, and Venompoint wondered what was wrong with him today to make him feel so distracted. Distractions like that offlined you in battle, and Venompoint had yet to risk it, and he wouldn't be starting now.

"What?" He grunted, and noticed that they had already stopped walking. His ruby gaze flickered from their pedes to what had caught Domino's attention. The black mech paused, greedily taking in the sight of smoking carcass that had once been an asteroid in outer space. He eyed the blackened terrain of the meteorite, and decided otherwise from getting too near to it when he noticed the blazing red magma spots.

"It's different."

Venompoint turned his helm to face Domino, whose faceplates were contorted into an expression of interest. With a defiant tilt of his helm, he asked, "What is?"

"This meteorite," Domino answered as he bent down and grabbed a long, twisted piece of metal that could have once been an energon post. "Usually, when meteors enter Cybertron's atmosphere, their outer layers usually disintegrate first, leaving the inner core to crumble into tiny pieces that are the sizes of lugnuts," he intricately elaborated, testing the weight of the metal pole.

Venompoint lifted an optical ridge. "And you know this how...?"

Domino flickered his bright blue gaze to meet his red ones, and the wry smile on his face plates was as obvious as Cybertron having tumbled out of its orbit. "I'm a G-5 mech, remember? I was required to complete my astronomy classes in Tyger-Pax's Science and Art Academy before I could receive my upgrades."

Venompoint clamped his dermas shut, internally berating himself for forgetting about that significant part and for not remembering how sensitive Domino was with his social standing being compared to others. Having been sparked and raised in one of the higher levels of Cybertron, Domino had been mocked by many when he had chosen his career as an enforcer for the Law Enforcement Division. His creators were disappointed in having sparked a knock-off of a mech who couldn't choose better, his peers from the higher castes looked down at him with disdain for having chosen a demeaning livelihood, and even his colleagues treated him with some amount of hostility for his higher ranking. And him...Venompoint would be lying if he said that he hadn't shown Domino the same kind of hostility when they had first met. Because it showed how different and far apart they were in the Cybertron of the past―Domino, a classy G-5 enforcer and him, a scrappy P-7 scoundrel who dealt in energon and dirty credits. It was a Primus slagging miracle that they had met in the earlier parts of the rebellion, and if it wasn't for the war happening, the unbreakable bond of trust and brotherhood that they had right now (though it wasn't the bond his spark wanted...) would have never had the chance to happen.

All because of Sentinel fragging Prime and those Council of fragging Elders.

 _'No offense intended to you, Primus,'_ he thought.

"Oh," was all Venompoint could say to Domino.

Domino merely hummed as he returned his attention back on the meteorite. Using the long metal pole, the indigo and yellow mech poked the unmoving object. A silent beat passed, and he did again but with much more force.

Venompoint continued staring at his smaller companion with a deadpanned expression. "And what exactly are _you_ doing?"

Domino didn't even glance back at him as he tried with all his might to stab the metal rod into the smoking meteorite. "Trying to check if its a nuclear bomb that intergalactic species from outer space sent to exterminate us."

Venompoint felt his spark jump in terror at the answer he had received, and he stared blankly at Domino for a couple of kliks. Seeing his friend not change his facial expression, he felt his energon tanks drop in horror and dread. "...Are you serious?"

Domino turned his helm to give him a dry and unimpressed look. "Of course I'm not," he drawled, an amused grin twittering at the edges of his dermas. "Because, _seriously_? What are the chances of _that_ ever happening?" He asked as he turned back to face the meteorite, and wrapped his other hand around the rod. "And besides, I don't know any other species aside from us," he added as he tightened his grip on the rod, pulled back, then stabbed forward.

Venompoint would have cursed him out as loudly and as crudely graphic as he could before tackling the smaller mech down, but the smell of something burning registering in his nodal sensors made him pause in uncertainty. Hesitantly turning his helm away from Domino―who wore a scarily _gleeful_ smile that only showed whenever he was watching some mech's servo being ripped off by Minion―he focused his attention on the meteorite.

Only...it wasn't a meteorite.

He gaped, his optics nearly bulging out of their respective lattices.

The presumed meteorite split open in half from the center, the top slowly rising upwards as light seeped through the opened space. Tankfuls of smoke hazed out of the opened meteorite, and Venompoint had to cover his optics to prevent being temporarily blinded by the bright light that illuminated off of the now unknown substance.

"What... _is that_?" He asked, perplexed, as he slowly lowered his servo and glanced at his smaller companion.

Domino practically vibrated with excitement. "It's a mothefragging _space pod,_ VP!" He exclaimed, whirling to face him. "A _space pod_!"

Venompoint's optical ridges rose high on his faceplates, and he glanced back at the opened space pod filled with smoke that obstructed whatever it hid in its interior. "A space pod?" He tested the term, looking absolutely stunned and flabbergasted. "A _space pod_?!"

At Domino's exuberant nod, the black and purple painted mech's jaw slackened as he shamelessly gaped at the space pod. "You've gotta be glitching with me."

"I'm not!" Domino protested, and he dared to step closer to the fogged up space pod. "And...if I'm right, then there's _gotta_ be something inside of it."

Though he hadn't been enrolled in any of the numerous science academies that had once stood tall and proud in every city and village on Cybertron, Venompoint had enough knowledge to know that a space pod was an intergalactic transportation vehicle that was only utilised during space travel and only by certified space navigators or merchants of colonised planets.

And, judging by the size of the space pod, Venompoint had enough common sense to know that whatever inside of the space pod was most _definitely_ not a 'something,' but more of a 'someone.'

Venompoint took a step forward and firmly clamped his hand around Domino's upper servo, causing the smaller mech to snap his head towards him. "I know what your processor is telling you," He started. "And trust me, you do _not_ want to go near that thing."

Domino easily tugged his servo back, causing Venompoint to growl threateningly at him. The much smaller mech merely rolled his optics and batted the much larger mech on the chassis. "Oh cool your afterburner. It's not like whatever's in there will suddenly jump out and attack me," he said. "And plus," he quipped, and the sound of several gears and iron-clad panels shifting revolved in the air. "I have this bad mech to protect me," he said, winking, as he showcased the indigo plated Plasma Cannon that had been integrated into his weapons systems even before the Great War had started.

Venompoint awarded him with a dry look. "It still isn't as effective as my Energon Virus Daggers," he drawled, placing a hand on one of the bronze-colored hilts that contained a blade that glowed an eery purple.

Domino merely stared at him blankly, one single thought running through his processor. _'He's totally overcompensating for something,'_ he sneakily thought as he turned his helm, acting as if he hadn't heard a single thing. "Whatever. Guns are way better than swords. Just saying," he replied as he began striding confidently towards the space pod.

An energon fuel line bulged out of the metal skin of Venompoint's faceplates as he clenched and unclenched his sharp claws into fists. His entire frame trembled, and he took a mighty step forward to prevent Domino from getting any nearer from the space pod. "Don't fragging go near it!" He yelled, reaching forward for Domino's servo again and missing by just an inch. He growled in irritation. "OI! I'm talking to you, you little glitch-head!"

Domino peacefully ignored him, and he stopped walking once he arrived at the very front of the space pod. Curiously, he waved away a few clouds of smoke that littered about the entire interior, and in doing so he accidentally slammed his hand into something hard.

Domino paused, his bright blue optics widening once he heard the sound of gears whirring and the all too familiar rumble of an engine. "VP!" He called, craning his head to back at the larger mech, his faceplates contorted into one of panic. "I think I found something!" He yelled before turning back to face the space pod. Feeling incredibly anxious with what he could find, his hands trembled as he began swatting the smoke away.

Once the smoke had finally cleared up, Domino's optics flickered down to stare at what he would discover, and he stiffened up at the sight of his discovery. His jaw slackened as he gaped wordlessly at what he had found, his bright blue optics slowly widening in shock and bewilderment.

"Hey!" Venompoint yelled into his audios as he clamped a clawed hand on the smaller mech's shoulder. "What the frag did you find?" He asked, curious at what could make his companion look so surprised.

When the black and violet coloured mech glanced down, he too paused, and joined his companion in staring in utter bemusement and surprise at what they'd just discovered.

"That's...That's-" Domino's vioce stammered out as he stared down at the only content that occupied the space pod's interior. "This...This is just-" He stumbled over his own words.

Because what laid within the space pod was a―

"It's a femme," Venompoint vented out, his own ruby red optics as wide as his partner.

"A femme," Domino repeated, looking completely unsure with the word.

Femmes were completely rare―even bordering on _legendary_. Because even before the great war started, a single femme would only be sparked after every hundred thousand mechs, and that was only in a twenty five percent possibility that the femme spark would even survive the violent process of being shifted from their carrier's spark or from Vector Sigma itself to their sparkling frame, and even barely half of those femmes who had survived would live through the another violent process of being transferred into their adult frames.

It had revealed that femmes had delicate sparks. And that was correct, because unlike mech sparks, femme sparks had a much wider energy field and thus were much more brittle. It was only when they reached their final upgrade would their sparks be protected by their own spark casings and were much less susceptible to gaining spark fragmentations.

And when the Great War finally arrived, most of these femmes were brutally offlined in battle. Most of those who had died in battle were soldiers, while a few were unfortunate civilians who were mistakened to have belonged to other faction and were mercilessly shot down, mot of which by Decepticon soldiers. The only femmes that were left alive could barely fill up a quarter of Yuss's former population, and most of those femmes had aligned themselves to the Autobots in exchange for protection and were transported out of Cybertron for their own safety.

The remaining femmes on Cybertron could barely be counted on a mech's hand, and all of which were either in hiding from mechs who would treat them with violence, or were currently under the refuges of mechs who had vowed to protect them.

"This must be a joke," Venompoint deadpanned as he stared down at the femme who seemed to be in deep recharge. "Or my processor has finally glitched," he added, holding his helm in one of his hands to massage the metal skin just over his processors. "I think I'll need to go to Vitallium for a defrag," he rumbled as he carelessly placed a clawed hand on the edges of the space pod to support himself.

Unbeknownst to him, he had pressed a significant button that operated the space pod's hibernation systems.

 **" _Hibernation Systems: Deactivating in a klik,_** **"** A mechanical voice from within the space pod spoke up, alarming the two mechs and forcing them to hold out their weapons in a defensive stance. **" _Processing...Processing...Processing..."_**

Domino's raised servo tensed up, and he flicker his gaze to Venompoint. "And _you_ tell me I'm the reckless one here," he drawled.

Venompoint growled. "You _are_ , you glitch-head."

 **" _Hibernation Systems: Fully Deactivated,_ " **The same voice announced, and a compartment flipped open from one of the space pod's walls. A miniature green device floated out of it, gliding through the air with complete grace. **" _Greetings, inhabitants of Cybertron. My designation is Cosmic, and this femme here is-_ " **The poor drone never got to finish its sentence before a beam of yellow light shot through its chassis.

The floating drone stiffened up, a brutal hole mutilating its middle. Sparks of green electricity came out of the hole of its middle, and its antennas sparked for several more times before it released a gear-grinding screech as it tumbled to the ground.

The yellow light that served as its single optic in the middle of its flat surface slowly died down until it turned a deathly grey.

All was silent.

All was awkward.

And all was definitely horrified.

"WHY THE FRAG DID YOU SHOOT THE THING DOWN?!" Venompoint screamed as he whirled to face Domino, whose plasma canon was still oozing out yellow smoke at the very tips.

Domino snapped his gaze up at Venompoint, his blue optics brightening up a shade as the horrifying realisation of what he'd done finally settled down in his processors. "I...Holy Primus, I offlined it!" he exclaimed, his servo lowering down as his plasma cannon reformatted itself back into his regular lower arm joint. "I SWEAR! I was aiming for its antennas, honestly!" He began rambling as he kneeled down on one knee joint to gather up the smoking pieces of what remained of the drone.

 **" _A.I. Cosmic: currently damaged and in need of repairs.. Instilling emergency back-up software systems: engaging. Processing...processing...processing,_ " **a new voice stated, its tone much dryer than the previous one. **" _Instilling emergency back-up software systems: engaged. Greetings, inhabitants of Cybertron. I wisely advise you to stand down and return your weapons, or I will be forced to engage my defense mechanisms and eliminate any posing threat to this femme._ "**

Wisely, Venompoint and Domino did so. The latter doing it sheepishly.

 **" _You have my acknowledgement that you are not a threat to her,_ " **The voice announced, its tone blander than before. **" _Now, would you prefer to stand still so that I could give you a deep body scan, or would you prefer to be forced into emergency stasis lock so that I can receive a thorough scan of your processors and systems to check if you are not suitable?_ "** The voice politely asked as several panels in the wall shifted apart, letting long, black tendrils float out with the tips hissing with electrical sparks.

Venompoint and Domino stared blankly at the rubber-like metal plated tendrils that coiled maliciously in the air, the tips illuminating with bright jolts of electricity as they twisted and untwisted around each other.

Venompoint had seen only one mech possess this significant trait. He'd seen the Decepticon Third in Command, Soundwave, in battle before when he'd been helping Domino evacuate civilians in a much smaller city near Kaon. He'd seen the cassette carrier's feelers, black with the faint tint of violet in them, attack an unsuspecting Autobot from behind, twisting into the poor mech's chassis before it pulled out with a large crumpled chunk of metal, sensitive wires, and life energon.

It was truly terrifying, and Venompoint hoped that the Decepticon officer's feelers didn't have the ability to electrocute like the feelers currently wiggling right in front of him.

Wait.

 _IN FRONT OF HIM?!_

Venompoint grabbed a hold of Domino's wrist joint and took an abrupt step back, causing the smaller mech to stumble back in surprise from the sudden action.

"NO." Venompoint answered, shaking his helm from side to side to show how displeased he was with the offer. "Frag no."

 **" _So you're both resorting to taking a deep body scan instead?_ " **The emotionless voice asked.

"Yes," Venompoint nodded, and he felt Domino squirm in his grasp.

"HEY! What about my decision?!" The indigo and yellow mech demanded.

Venompoint sent the smaller mech a dry, unimpressed look. "I doubt you would want electrocuting feelers entering through both your audio sensors and your throat cables."

Domino's faceplates paled, but the shudder that wracked throughout his entire chassis said otherwise.

Venompoint raised an optical ridge. "Addict much?"

Domino's cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour as energon rushed to that certain area, and he turned his bright blue glare on the much larger mech. "Shut up," he hissed, uncharacteristically embarrassed, before turning to face the space pod. "...And deep body scan for me please."

 **" _As you've requested_ _,_ " **The voice plainly replied, and a bright green digital scanning net flashed to life from a sensor optic at the back of the space pod. The bright green digital scanning net swept upwards from the soles of their pedes to the very tips of their intricate helms. The digital net swept downwards and upwards again before it disappeared not an astrosecond too late.

 **" _Data Scanning: complete. Data Analyzing: processing... processing...processing...acceptable,_ " **The voice stated with a tone of finality. **" _Spark Designation: Venompoint; Transformer: Cybetronian; City of Origin: Kaon; Age: 36,432 vorns; Frame Kind: Mech; Frame Type: Grounder; Frame Build: Originally of Civilian-build, then upgraded into Steath-build, then reformatted with War-build. Current Status: Online, Neutral, Scavenger._ "**

Venompoint and Domino stayed silent as the artificial intelligence that had been integrated into the space pod's systems began listing down Venompoint's current systems status with a bland tone.

The petite indigo and yellow mech snickered gleefully as Venompoint blushed whole-sparkedly. "You're Interfacing Systems are running at _what_ percent now?"

"Shut up," The War-built mech mumbled, crossing his servos over his chest as he moodily sulked.

 **" _Spark Designation: Goldtide; Upgrade Designation: Domino; Transformer: Cybertronian; City of Origin: Tyger-Pax; Age: 38,795 vorns; Frame Kind: Mech; Frame Type: Grounder; Frame Build: Originally of Civilian-build, then upgraded into the standard Enforcer Military-build, then reformatted with War-build. Current Status: Online, Neutral, Scavenger._ "**

Venompoint snorted. "At least the A.I. knows your spark designation," he muttered.

Domino's dermas curved downwards as he frowned in disapproval. The A.I. knew too much, and it was most certainly revealing too much of his personal background. The servo with the plasma cannon integrated into it twitched, and he resisted the urge to shoot the space pod several times, uncaring if the femme within sustained injuries or not.

Vitallium and Rouge could always repair her, after all.

"And what about _your_ Interfacing Systems, Domino?" Venompoint taunted, his lip plates pulled into a mocking grin once he heard how fragging _high_ those specific systems were running at.

"Over 90%" Domino replied. "And I'm proud of it," he added, smirking, making Venompoint's cruel image falter and crumble into disbelief.

 **" _Data Analysis of Cybertronian Transformers Venompoint and Domino: Complete. Additional information: unstable mechs that are really advised to get their processors defraged. Reason: unstable Reasoning Data chips and several corroded files and damaged firewalls._ " **The voice announced, and the two mechs twitched. **" _Evaluation: acceptable enough._ "**

Domino shuttered his optics. "Huh? Acceptable for what?"

The A.I. rudely ignored them, and instead droned on.

 **" _Spark Designation:_ _పెర్ల్ క్లీవర్; Upgrade Designation: Galactica; Transformer:_ _భూమి; City of Origin: Formerly_ _అమెరికా, currently Kaon; Age: 17_ _అమెరికా సంవత్సరాల; Frame Kind: Femme; Frame Type: Triple-changer; Frame Build: War-build; Current Status: Recharging, Neutral,_ _ప్రైమస్ దూత,_ " **The voice blankly introduced as a dim, white light illuminated the resting femme.

Venompoint and Domino stared down at the femme.

"...What? 17 _what_?" Venompoint spoke aloud, his optical ridges furrowing in deep concentration and confusion.

"A triple-changer?" Domino spoke, tilting his intricate helm. "What kind of frame type is that? I've never heard of it...Do you know what it is, VP?"

Venompoint shook his helm. "I don't...but she's not wearing a faction insignia, so she _must_ be clean."

 **" _Systems: operating at 93%. Cranial Systems: 87%; Optical Systems: 98%; Audio Systems: 94%; Olfactory Systems: 94%; Mandible Systems: 96%; Hexa-Lateral Scapula Systems: 94%; Restarlueus Systems: 94%; Carpustronos Systems: 94%; Throxal Cavity: 91%; Bipedalism Chord: 94%; Trans-cog Systems: N/A; Pelvis Systems: 94%; Interface Systems: 5%; Tibulen Systems: 94%; Cadulen Systems: 94%; Grounder Systems: N/A; Flier Systems: N/A; Weapons Systems: 100%..._ " **And the voice droned on and on and on.

Venompoint and Domino exchanged bemused and skeptical looks.

"Most of her systems are functioning at over ninety percent, and did you hear what percent her Interface Systems were _at_?" Domino whispered to his friend.

Venompoint nodded wordlessly. "Exactly like a new-sparked sparkling."

Domino's engine revved in agreement, and he worriedly looked over the teal coloured chassis of the recharging femme.

 **" _Disengaging Recharge: accomplished,_ " **the hollow-like voice announced, making the two Cybertronians swivel their helms to face the other with wide optics. **" _Galactica: shall emerge from her recharge within a joor. Warnings: The femme can be particularly violent when she is within an environment she is not familiar with, and may attempt to assault you once she comes out of recharge, so I advise to keep an acceptable amount of distance away from her to avoid getting physically damaged by her; She isn't familiar with an adult frame, having been sparked on an organic planet far away and has just been recently upgraded from her youngling frame. Request: I request your services to educate Galactica in the various cultures of Transformers, for she isn't very well acquainted with them. Additional: She is well acquainted with the arts of combat, so you have no need to teach her to fend for herself, but if you wish you may._ "**

 **" _Engaging Emergency Stasis Lock: due in one klik. Cybertronian Transformers Venompoint and Domino: break a leg, mechs. You'll need it_ _,_ " **the emotionless voice quipped, before it counted down to zero and the light that illuminated the space pod immediately died down into darkness.

Venompoint and Domino stared at the space pod blankly for about a breem, their processors functioning at their most maximum speed to process the information that they had been regaled with. It took anther breem for their logic cores to send them a reply notification that _yes, this_ did _happen_.

All was silent and still, save for the humming and whirring of their systems, that was now being accompanied by another that they were completely unfamiliar with. Domino slowly turned his helm to face the black mech, his faceplates contorted into an expression of inquiry.

Venompoint didn't meet his blue-opticed gaze, his processors still running at their fastest speed to come up with a suitable solution to this impossibly difficult equation. Well, it wasn't really that hard of an equation, and already had several solutions formulating in his processor; however, he didn't think Domino would approve of any of them.

Before the Great War had started, Venompoint was a one of those mechs who dealt with, what you can term as, dirty credits. He was one of _those_ mechs―the ones who hid from the sharp optics of Enforcers, the one who lived in the dark, the one who dealt with deals underneath the table with both higher and lower class Transformers. He wasn't a very well-known black market dealer, but every Enforcer and even some higher caste mechs in Kaon and Praxus _and_ Polyhex (what can he say? The pleasurebots in the lower castes of Polyhex were known for being the most creative and thrilling mechs and femmes one could ever have the pleasure of berthing with.) knew to watch out for him.

(Yes. He knew how completely ironic his situation was right now. An ex-convict (or was it still _convict?_ ) and an ex-Enforcer working together, with the former having less than appreciated desires for the latter.)

So, it really wasn't that much of a surprise to him when the first thing he'd come up with to deal with the femme, was to sell her.

And, once he mulled over it for a few more kliks, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. For starters, he would receive credits. And not those USB sized sack of credits―but _hundreds_ of them. Venompoint knew a couple of higher class mechs who were still scattered around Cybertron, most of which were still seeking refuge in Kalis or Yuss, and he _knew_ that there were at least two to five mechs who would want a 'companion' of sorts to be with them in this completely tragic event that had befallen upon every single of them, and would be able to pay for her without any problems.

And, not to mention, Venompoint would have a problem with fuelling another Transformer. He already had enough on his hands with Domino and his 'unique' (more like downright processor-fragged) familial unit. Rouge would, and that was a completely sure _would_ , snark at him the whole orn for allowing Domino to bring another 'useless, fragging Cybertronian that they don't even _need_ anymore with how many they already were and how limited their energy supply was.'

In his complete defense, it hadn't been _Domino_ that had brought Crashthrough back home, but _Vitallium_. But _nooooo,_ the stupid femme just _had_ to blame his glitch-head of a partner than her mentor that could barely walk out of their house without tripping over his two slagging messed up pedes.

And not to mention what Vitallium and Crashthrough's reaction would be.

Venompoint could already feel the processor-ache he'd be having in the near future.

So, with his processor made up after a couple more kliks, Venompoint was pretty sure he was confident enough with his decision and was just about to tell the smaller Cybertronian before the aforementioned mech interrupted him.

"We are _not_ selling the femme, VP," Domino's voice held no room for argument. Venompoint opened his dermas to counter him, but then Domino pointed out a _very_ obvious thing that he had missed out. "Or did you forget what _could_ happen once Rouge finds out that _you_ are attempting to trade a fellow femme in exchange for a couple of credits."

Venompoint paused, his lip plates having parted just a nano-klik ago, and his optics slowly dimmed as he tried to rummage through his already messed up processor for something to remind him of what femmes were like with another.

And frag did he find one.

Venompoint's red optics onlined once again, and he snapped his gaze to meet with Domino's so fast that his optics could have gotten whiplash if that was even conceivable. "Primus," he breathed out, looking like he'd just had a spark attack within an astrosecond. "You're fragging _right_. Rouge would _slaughter_ me, then put me back together to repeat the same endless cycle over and over and fragging over again," he almost groaned in completely misery and pain just by _thinking_ about it.

Domino nodded. "Which only leaves us with only one option," he muttered underneath the venting of his heated engine.

The two looked at each, demonic red and angelic blue clashing with one another for as long as their gazes held, and they firmly nodded at one another.

"Bring the femme to Rouge."

* * *

A femme with chipped, turquoise painted armour that would barely protect her from any incoming attack felt an energon fuel line underneath the stretched metal skin of her faceplates bulge, and she felt the immense feeling of _murder_ radiate powerfully into her systems. Her maliciously tinted carmine optics narrowed a little as she straightened her spinal strut, her fingers enclosing around an object that had once been a flashlight that had lived off for several vorns without prosing a single problem.

The engine within her chassis growled dangerously, and she performed a complete 180 on her heel struts to prowl intimidatingly out of the small room that was pathetically her small bedroom and joint clinic with one of the mechs she could tolerate long enough to not feel like castrating in the matter of kliks.

She stalked outside of her humble abode, and cautiously looked around for a moment. She inspected her surroundings for a few moments, before nodding in confirmation that there wasn't a single mech that she was unfamiliar with around. It was to be expected, since the residence she and her crazy mechs had marked as theirs were of the C-platform and in an area that wasn't advisable to be around since there were rumours of the Decepticon Scientist Shockwave having secret labs scattered around here and there at sector C-72, but one could never be too sure. She was a femme, and she suspected that she might as well have been the last femme on Cybertron alive right now, or hopefully just in Kaon.

Rouge felt her spark thrum with pain, and she resisted the urge to flinch at the sudden onslaught of _painlonelinessdesparationsadnessangerfeargrief_ that assaulted her, and she allowed her trademark rouge coloured lip plates to purse and deepen into a frown.

Her femme core modules made her feel like this every time she thought about her... _sisters_. It wasn't that she had a sister (Primus forbid her creators from having sparked _another_ abomination), but femmes in general were all considered as one enormous familial unit. Femmes were different from mechs, because unlike those interface hungry slaggers, femmes had the ability or _gift_ to create a familial bond with another femme of their choice without having to perform the most intimate of acts two Cybertrons could ever perform in their eternal-like lifespans.

And, they had the special ability to tell when another of their frame kinds were within an area that varied differently amongst different individuals.

So far, Rouge hasn't felt that certain pull of familiarity, soothingness, and amity in over a decade vorn.

Her fellow femmes had either joined the Decepticon cause (who the frag in their right processors would join _those_ idiots who only thought about colonisation?) or had allied themselves with the Autobots to either fight for the cause or provide sanctuary for themselves. (and who the frag in their right processors would even _think_ of joining those prideful, smug glitches?)

She, however, was a special case and had decided to pick option three: To stay a neutral and survive for as long as she and her adopted familial unit could.

Decepticons took no mercy in shooting neutrals down, and Autobots barely even gave them the time of their cycle to pay attention to anything aside from themselves or their stupid, _stupid_ faction.

Well, no matter. There hadn't been a single Autobot or Decepticon on Cybertron in over ten vorns, and Rouge hoped that those little fraggers together with that so called 'Primus-gifted Prime' had already died on some uncharted plane of some unknown galaxy from energon deficiency.

Fraggers deserved it for destroying her city-state and slaughtering thousands of _sparklings_ and _younglings._

Rouge may have been a cruel and merciless femme with a sharp gloassa that may have been more of a disadvantage than an advantage to her, but she still had a perfectly functioning spark that twisted in grief and sorrow whenever she had watched a sparkling or youngling offline from energon deficiency. (she would have helped them, but what about her? And what about Vitallium? And Crashthrough and Domino and Venompoint? She had _more important_ mechs to take care of, and she would rather let a sparkling die than watch one of her mechs slowly suffer and die.) She loved sparklings and younglings, every femme did because it had been instilled into their core modules that klik they had been sparked into existence. They were supposed to be the caretakers of the young, the one who would rise the future generations of Cybertron.

But, after everything that had happened, Rouge doubted she could even call herself a femme after having left several sparklings to die on their own, their painful clicks and whirrs calling for their creators that were probably long gone by now haunted her to this very cycle.

Rouge shook her helm, erasing the stressful thoughts from her processor as fast as she could manage, and she lifted her chin up to focus on what was happening _today_.

Sparklings and younglings were pleasures and gifts of the Allspark that only existed in the past, but her mechs existed _now_ and she would make sure that they would continue to do so.

Her optics swept over the area again, and she ignored the ashes that were once great structures of buildings or remains of Cybertronians that were once high-class Transformers that wasted the hard work of those below them. Her optics paused for a brief moment when she caught sight of the large metal building that was just a couple of miles away from her humble abode, and she forced herself to look away despite the dark feeling that swelled up in her energon tanks.

Venompoint and Domino had already scouted that building, and all they had managed to obtain from its remains were a couple pieces of metal that were barely dented and were immediately traded for several cubes of energon that had lasted for a few orns. The two had suggested to go back, but Crashthrough had protested against it once he had found out where the metal had come from, claiming that the building had once been one of the several headquarters for the Decepticons before it had been deserted once they all left the planet.

Venompoint and Domino had reluctantly listened―because all five of them knew how dangerous it was to be within the territories of Autobot and Decepticon headquarters. Any one of them could have died from a trap they'd unsuspectingly activated, and all because they were too reckless and stubborn to stay away.

However, Rouge was more interested on _how_ , exactly, had Crashthrough known about that little piece of information.

Rouge forced herself out of her thoughts again, and she held her helm in one of her hands as she internally wondered what was malfunctioning with her. Usually, she wouldn't be thinking this thoroughly over everyday thoughts, and it felt kind of foreboding to her when she thought this deep.

Because it mostly meant that something was about to happen.

"...Rouge?"

A deep, baritone voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she raised her optics to stare up at the familiar mech that had called out her designation.

Vitallium towered over her, his faceplates contorted into one of concern and worry. His stark, silvery frame didn't stand out amongst the rubble of metal that surrounded them; in fact, he blended right in without a single problem. If it wasn't for the streaks of dark green on his armour, and the large bright red cross that indicated he was a certified medic that had completed his training, Rouge would have completely missed him.

And plus, the familiar intrusion of his energy field merging with hers would have made it nigh impossible to miss his presence.

"Are you alright?" Vitallium questioned, his neon green optics narrowing as he inspected her condition. "You look as if you've seen the Unmaker himself," he rumbled.

Rouge's red optics softened, and the tight grip she had on the broken flashlight loosened a little as she stepped forward to brush her servo against the taller mech, her energy field radiating with content. "I'm fine," she answered. "But I'm kind of vexed because, _apparently_ , Crashthrough's been fragging up my tools again," she growled lowly, her shoulders tensing as the hot pink plated armour on her servos flared out in a threatening manner.

Vitallium moved himself away from the femme that was just trembling with controlled fury, and forced a tense smile on his scarred dermas. "I'm sure it was an accident this time," he tried to persuade, because the poor red faceplated mech would doubtfully survive Rouge's ire this cycle.

Rouge rewarded him with a healthy amount of dryness. "Yeah, _sure_ , tell that to the _other_ hundreds of situations he 'accidentally' broke my tools," she replied dully, her ruby optics narrowing even further as she inspected the larger mech with a sharp vision.

The smile on Vitallium's dermas twitched, and he serenely closed his optics for a brief nano-klik. In that span of a nano-klik, he had decided between two options: To stay loyal to Crashthrough and get his servo and tibulen joints swapped, or to stay loyal to Rouge and save himself from a possibly humiliating situation.

He didn't even need a whole nano-klik to decide, because not a moment too soon, he thought, _'Frag it, every mech for himself.'_

With a snap of his servo, his index finger uncurled and pointed at something far off. "He's hiding two miles away from here, cowering behind a large pile of rubble with the servo of a yellow mech near it," he detailed, his calm and serene smile still set in place.

There was a brief pause between the two Cybertronians, and after a while Rouge decided to crane her neck joint to squint at something far away. The low-maintained optical rings in her optics adjusted as she tried to locate what Vitallium was pointing at. Understanding and triumph dawned on her faceplates once she _did_ find a large pile of rubble with a barely recognisable servo near it from the distance she was at.

In an unfortunate turn of luck, a dark blue helm peeked over the pile of rubble, and a pair of piercing gold optics followed as well.

The golden coloured optics warily scanned the area for a moment, before the landed upon the pair of Cybertronians that were just two miles away from him. He felt his entire frame tense up, his joints clenching tightly as his armour flared lowly in an act of surprise and fear. He watched with a feeling of dread welling up in his energon tanks as the teal painted femme's ruby coloured dermas lifted into a malicious grin that just spelled death.

If he was the extremely paranoid mech (up to the point that he thought his energon pistol was plotting against him, and was just waiting for the perfect time to offline him) that he was before, Crashthrough would have whimpered in misery. Fortunately, since he was a much more mature mech than before, Crashthrough childishly narrowed his yellow optics on Vitallium, a look of betrayal masking his features.

 _::Traitor::_ He hissed in the private communications line that Vitallium had wordlessly opened.

On the outside, Vitallium smiled apologetically, but on the outside he sniffed in a haughty manner. _::Every mech for himself, dunce::_

"Found you~" Rouge sang in a scarily pleasant voice as she began making her way towards Crashthrough, being extra sure that her steps were moderate and that her strides were confident. If she wanted to scare the slag out of the largest mech of their familiar unit (which wasn't really that hard), then she would definitely _need_ to both look and act that part.

Especially when she was just several more kilometers away from digging her fingers into the seams of his armour and ripping out as much sensitive circuitry out of him and relocating them into different sockets so that he would functioning oddly in _orns_.

Ah, the perks of being a medic.

"Crashthrough~" She cooed, her dermas widening into a positively evil grin. "You did something _very_ bad this cycle, and you know what you did, right?" She said, flashing her sharp dentals at him.

Crashthrough shuddered as he huddled even deeper into his hiding place. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Rouge," he replied nervously as he worried his bottom derma with his dentals. "I ain't got anything to do with your tools," he immediately added, and flinched at what he had done.

Just a few more kilometers, Rouge thought as her grin widened. "Oh, but, Crashthrough," she hummed, her energy field expanding so that hers brushed against the larger mech's. Her spark hummed in glee when she felt his energy field nervously quiver against her scarily flexible one. "I didn't say _anything_ about my tools."

Crashthrough groaned as he slammed the back of his helm against the pile or rocks he was currently using as a shield, internally berating himself for being such a glitch-head. "I swear I didn't mean to! My aft just bumped against your cart! I didn't meant to break anything!" He exclaimed, daring to take another peek to see how close Rouge was to him.

 _And by Primus was she close_.

Crashthrough immediately crawled back, the gears near his inner tibulen joints groaning tiredly as they stressed themselves to commit the not so commonly used action, once he had seen Rouge just a motherfragging _meter_ away from him.

He internally wailed, wondering what he had done so horrible in a past life to get such a bulky aft in the first place.

Once she was close enough, Rouge bended her knee joints a little before she strained her ankle joints and leaped unto the somewhat flat surface of the very top of the pile of metal rubble. She wobbled once as her equilibrium sensors adjusted to the sudden change of level. After an astrosecond, she tipped her helm and stared down at the slightly trembling form of Crashthrough.

There was a tendril of guilt and pity that wormed its way into her spark, telling her that she didn't have to do this and that it was just an accident.

However, it was just a _tiny_ tendril, and it didn't take too long for Rouge to squash it and throw it away. If this cycle was one of her better cycles, then she would have been much more merciful to the damage her friend had done; however, this cycle wasn't a good one, and Crashthrough had broken something _important_. A flashlight might have seem so common and useless to others―when there were far more better items than a measly flashlight―but in a time where Cybertron _barely_ functioned on energon with a limited amount of help from others who had fled off to colonised planets to escape the Great War, a flashlight could do _wonders_ , and it was even a Primus-gifted miracle for a medic, because a flashlight could be used to light up the dark depths of a mech's chassis, to see something in the dark that could be vital for the mech's survival an increase their probabilities of living.

And the only time she used her tools was when she was repairing her mechs. Domino was the most reckless one of of the five of them, and he usually came home with several dents and scrapes; Venompoint was much more careful with his frame, but he was usually the victim of collapsing buildings and had his fair share of losing a limb or getting an unpleasantly deep dent on his back or/and chest; Vitallium was the most careful of them, and he barely got a single scrape or dent in an orn; Crashthrough, however, didn't have a safe occupation.

Well, none of their current occupations were safe. Domino and Venompoint were scavengers, occasionally even going into the energon mines to scavenge for energon crystals that they could barter off for a supply of energon that would last them a few cycles; she and Vitallium were medics (even if she wasn't a 'certified' one yet.), but Vitallium usually went off to the Gladiator Arena to offer his services for a whole two orns in return for a couple cubes of energon.

But Crashthrough's livelihood was much more different and dangerous than theirs. He was a Primus-forsaken _warrior_ of that pit-spawn Gladiator Arena.

Rouge knew that she should have stopped him from registering himself the cycle he had announced that he was going to become a warrior and provide his own share of energon rations; however, they were all much poorer before and all five of them barely had anything that filled their energon tanks just above thirty percent, and she had thought that he would relinquish himself from the dangerous occupation after an orn or so.

Only...he never did. Because as the orns passed by, Crashthrough kept fighting in matches. The matches that he participated in didn't really require the death of a mech, but if one had managed to offline their opponent then there would be a generous bonus. It didn't ease the worry in Rouge's spark whenever she watched Crashthrough's opponents attempt to _kill_ him, and not one attempted to just _defeat_ him.

And whenever he came home from a battle, Crashthrough's entire frame would be covered in dents and scrapes, and would occasionally be losing a part of his armour that he would always grip tightly in his fingers. And, which happened only _rarely_ , Crashthrough would be losing a pede or a hand.

Usually, it would be Vitallium who would be repairing him, since he was a part-time Arena medic, but when he wasn't available it would be her who would be tending to Crashthrough's damaged frame.

She still felt her delicate hands tremble when they hovered over a damaged part of her friend's chassis.

Which led back to the current situation right now. The flashlight that Crashthrough had broken was a _very_ important one, since she used it to inspect the inner parts of his chest compartment. His chest armour was very bulky, and it was common for it to dent deeply when it was striked in a particular severe way. And, because of those deep dents, his energon fuel lines would occasionally press against his sensitive circuits and coil up―which was a very dangerous thing, because a combination of energon and electricity just spelled a catastrophe.

And, without that flashlight, how would she know if his energon fuel lines had twisted with his circuitry again? She didn't want something bad to happen to him, because if she had missed a vital abnormality within his chassis, then the consequences that would happen would damage Crashthrough and who knows what could happen to him? His systems could crash, and he could go into an emergency stasis lock―and depending on their current situation, Rouge would have no way of pulling him out of it without the required instruments and machines to help her; or his processors would be overcharged and he could hurt himself from the continuos onslaught of energon that his electrical circuits had contaminated.

A Cybteronian's body may be durable, but that was only on the outside. On the inside, there was a complex structure of wires, joints, electrical circuits, slim tubes, metal compartments, glass casings, etc. that needed to be tended to with great care.

She focused her narrowed carmine gaze on, her equally carmine dermas pulling back into a vindictive snarl. " _Crashthrough_ ," she started, her voice coming out as a hiss accompanied by various static ends. "Do you know how fragging important _this_ ," Here, Rouge brought up the shattered remains of what had once been a flimsy flashlight. "Is?"

Crashthrough raised both of his shoulders, determined to make himself as little as he could. His golden optics dimmed as he searched the best definition he could for a flashlight. His throat cables constricted as he gulped, and he answered hesitantly, "...It's for lighting up dark places?"

Rouge's optical ridges dug deeper, her shoulders vibrating with barely controlled wrath as she thought how utterly _idiotic_ the mech in front of her could be.

But, alas, Prmus had cursed every single mech out there to be an idiotic fragging spawn of a glitch. Such a shame indeed, since femmes were always the one who to cool their counterparts down and beat some sense into their processors.

She widened her dermas, prepared to start her raging; however, just as the first word had parted from her voice box, Rouge felt her spark constrict and she paused in surprise at the sudden feeling.

She placed a hand on her chest, confused and perturbed by the sudden unfamiliar sensation her spark had committed. A gasp escaped her as she felt her spark pulse, but it wasn't in a painful manner.

Her spark pulsed again, and she dug her small fingers into the seams of her armour, gripping tightly which caused a few jolts of pain to shoot through her neural systems. It pulsed again, but this time at a much faster speed, and Rouge tried to identify the unfamiliar feeling that made her entire frame heat up and tremble with an uncontainable feeling.

Her spark pulsed again, but this time there was a certain hum to it. Rouge ignored Crashthrough's worried calling of her name as she focused her entire attention on her spark that seemed to be calling for something that was so close yet so far away.

Intrigued, Rouge expanded her energy field, easily brushing past Crashthrough's tremulous one and Vitallium's gently flowing one that practically oozed out interest and confusion. Her energy field, while not as large as Domino's―but he had better systems anyways, having once been a high-class mech, so that was understandable―was the most flexible one out of all of five them. She strained her energy field once more as she concentrated on narrowing and elongating it on a certain point that her spark seemed so set on.

She twitched in surprise once her energy field swept against Domino's and Venompoint's, having not expected them to be so close to them. She checked her internal clock, and was confused over _why_ would they be returning a joor too early. They had left just a groon earlier, and Rouge doubted they had found something worthwhile to come back.

Concerned, she nudged her energy field against Domino's, a silent question if they were alright. For once, Domino's energy field was erratic, its waves compressing tightly and hiking up into sharp tips. Rouge could barely distinguish one feeling from another, muddled by the hundreds of feelings that Domino was radiating. Fortunately, Domino had been kind and generous enough to calm himself down to give her an answer.

 _We're fine_ , was his silent message, accompanied by nervousness, fear, and anxiousness.

Feeling much more sated on the idea that they weren't harmed or malfunctioning in any way, Rouge grew curious and interested on what made Domino feel so tense. Shifting her attention to Venompoint, she brushed her energy field against his, asking for his permission to harmonise with hers for a nano-klik.

Just as she'd expected, Venompoint denied the harmonisation; however, he allowed the tips of his own energy field to brush against hers to give her a chance to scrutinise his feelings.

Whereas Domino's energy field was erratic and quite close to becoming static-like, Venompoint's energy field still maintained its smooth rolling waves that showed how calm he could be despite the situation. Rouge wasn't surprised to find irritation clouding his entire energy field―because since when wasn't the fragger irritated?―but she _was_ surprised once she felt his energy field radiate feelings quite similar to anxiety and interest.

She sent him a silent question through her energy field, wondering what had piqued his curiosity this time, but was dissatisfied to receive nothing in return.

Deciding to withdraw her energy field back before she collapsed from the strain of forcing her energy field a few miles away from her limitations, Rouge stiffened once her energy field had brushed against an unknown mech's.

Prepared to instantly compress her energy field back into its original state, Rouge was surprised and pained to feel her spark strongly pulse, halting her from doing what she had intended to do. Her spark pulsed again, causing her to gasp, as it hummed and thrummed loudly, causing her energy field to radiate the feeling to the energy field of the unknown mech's.

Not an astrosecond sooner, the energy field of the unknown mech's returned the same feeling, and Rouge was suddenly engulfed by a sensation that she hadn't felt in a _very_ long time.

She felt a _sister._

Her spark cried in happiness, wept in relief, and squeal with delight; because, in a very long time, Rouge felt the spark of _another femme_.

And then, just as the feeling of surprised delight had engulfed every single piece of machinery within her, pain instantly clouded her entire systems which forced her to retract her strained energy field with a pained gasp and a cry of despair from her spark from having been separated from the unknown femme's.

Her red optics dimmed into a paler shade, and her entire frame trembled violently as she tried to regain her sense of equilibrium again. A wave of pain washed over her joints, making the gears inside of them churn painfully, and before she knew it her knee joints had buckled and the blurry sight of the ground was quickly coming closer to her faceplates.

She emitted a weak groan when she felt someone catch her body, and she didn't have to guess twice that it had been Crahsthrough who had caught her judging by the chipped, dark blue chest armour that she was protectively pressed against. She felt the servos holding her shift, and the sight of Crashthrough's chest was immediately replaced by his concerned, oddly red painted faceplates.

His dermas were changing shapes, and Rouge vaguely realised that he was talking to her. His words fell on deaf audio sensors however, because all that she could hear was static and nothing but static.

Her pale red optics dimmed even more, and her spark ached with emptiness and longing again. A red notification screen appeared in her processor, and she blearily read it. She internally berated herself for forcing her straining her energy field for so long, before she was forced into recharge to recuperate her overheating systems.

Darkness clouded her entire processor, and all the while, her spark continued to cry out in despair as it tried to find the bond it had shared with the other spark for just a nano-klik before Rouge was forced to severe it.

* * *

When Domino and Venompoint arrived back home (It would always be a weird word that rolled off their glossa. _Home_. Because for them, they had lost their homes a long, _long_ , time ago from different situations that they would rather bring to their grave then tell to the others.), they were met with the surprising sight of two fretting Transformers.

Domino's blue optics flickered up to meet his closest friend's red ones, a silent message that didn't require their energy fields passing through them. Venompoint inclined his helm, an annoyed look passing over his faceplates with a tinge of concern.

The two could feel Crashthrough's and Vitallium's energy fields―the former's was fearfully erratic while the latter's was pitched high in seriousness and concern―but there was no response from the energy field of the only femme in their squad.

Domino ran past the larger mech, and easily integrated himself into the fretting mechs once he had Rouge in her current condition. Craning his neck joint, Domino announced to his friend, "She's unconscious!"

The grip Venompoint had on the unknown femme― _Galactica_ , he reminded himself―tightened, and he felt the smaller Transformer in his arms twitch. He glanced down at the masked faceplates of the femme, his engine growling irately from the compartments of his chest plates. He never did like face guards, because that hindered his chance of inspecting any vulnerability he could get from reading one's faceplates.

Grunting, he calmly walked over to the group of three fretting mechs. He nudged Vitallium's tibulen with his pede, and the mech in question craned his neck joint to glance up at him.

Venompoint watched as Vitallium's optics flickered up to his faceplates, their gazes clashing with one another's, and Venompoint briefly shifted his attention form the larger mech to the turquoise-colored femme who was lying serenely in Crashthrough's servos. He shifted his attention back on Vitallium, who was now staring with wide, neon green optics at the teal-colored femme he held in his servos.

"I brought back a souveneir," Venompoint sarcastically drawled, showing the femme to the silver mech. "Do you like it?"

Vitallium kept his gaze locked on the recharging femme. "That's impossible," he breathed out.

The black mech rolled his optics. "Well, as you can see, it's not impossible. Check her energy field―it's hasn't been tampered with and its one hundred percent real," he replied dryly.

Vitallium did so, and felt his systems stall for a moment as he realised with surprise that Venompoint was correct. There certainly wasn't any glitches or viruses in the femme's energy field, and the certain hum her spark radiated through the energy field identified her as a femme like Rouge.

"She's young," he absently noted, the optical rings in his optics zoning in and out as he inspected the femme's energy field. "She hasn't blocked her spark from her energy field yet," he muttered lowly. "Where did you find her?"

Venompoint shrugged. "We found her in a space pod that nearly obliterated me and Domino when it crash-landed near Sector-8," he vented. "And the pod's AI told us that her designation was Galatica, and that she was 17 something. Vorns, maybe?" he asked, directing the question to the grey mech that had stood up form his kneeling position.

Vitallium gave him a confused look, before he returned his gaze back on the femme. "Did the AI told her where was she from?"

Venompoint shrugged. "It did, but it was talking in a completely different language. The only thing I remembered was that it said something about an organic planet, and that she was just recently upgraded into her adult frame."

Vitallium scanned the femme, and was perturbed by the percentages her systems were showing. "Her systems...?"

Venompoint nodded. "Just like a sparkling's, right?"

Vitallium stayed silent, his neon green optics inspecting every nook and cranny he could find on the femme. He brushed his hand against the femme's tibulen guards, intrigued by the yellow rhombus-shaped gem that glinted in the middle of the teal-colored metal. "Well," he started, pulling his gaze away from the clearly war-built femme and placing it on Rouge's still form. "then that must explain why Rouge fainted. She must stretched her energy field again, and the sudden sensation of felling another femme within our territory must have stressed her spark."

Venompoint stared blankly at him, processing the older medic's words for a moment, before he nodded in understanding. He lifted the femme away from his chassis, and asked, "Well...where should I put this?" He asked, looking down at the recharging femme with a mild look of hostility in his eyes. "And should I chain her up?"

Vitallium gave him a deadpanned expression. "Chivalrous as always."

* * *

 _I had a dream―something that rarely happens after my dad had died and left my mom alone with me and my brothers. Usually, I would sleep and, if I was fortunate enough, then I would wake up to the sun blinding my face, or, if I was really unfortunate, I would wake up at God knows what time from nightmares and dark voices whispering maliciously in my head_ _―about a memory that I had never recalled before but was completely sure had happened at one point in my entire existence._

 _I was seven years old again_ _―dressed in shorts and a white T-shirt, my hair was up in two high pigtails that Ciara had tied them with star-clipped ties_ _―and I was sitting idly on a ruffled, brown carpet that felt soft and cuddly underneath my wriggling toes. I was in a large Philippine-themed living room, but I wasn't alone._

 _An elderly woman was in front of me, sophistically sitting in a thickly-stuffed white couch that fitted for one person. Despite her old age, she wasn't hunched over on her back; she kept her spine straight as she sat up on the soft-looking furniture._

 _Milagros_ _―Lola Agreng, as I had affectionately called her before she succumbed to breast cancer after years of fighting it off just to spend more time with her beloved_ _―was an elderly Filipina who had been born and raised in the tropical islands of the Philippines and had come to the busy yet sight-worthy country of America to look for a job that would support both her and her family back home when she was but a young adult that had graduated with high honours from her class. She worked as a waitress in a hotel located in San Andreas, met a devilishly handsome and moderately wealthy CEO named Travis Rodriguez that had fallen for her loving smiles and hardworking attitude, settled down with the same man in Blue Keys, and was living the life any woman would envy for_ _―or so what Lola Agreng had told us with a mischievous smirk as she fed us her homemade pork adobo._

 _She was an elderly Filipino woman at her 60's. Her skin was moderately tanned_ _―an aspect she had inherited from her native heritage_ _―and her long dark brown hair with a few grey hairs in betweem was styled into a loose ponytail that went over one of her shoulders. Matching her Philippine-themed retirement house, Lola Agreng wore a loose, white and modern Filipinian Barong with silky, transparent sleeves and dark blue (or was it black?) leggings that hung loosely over her knees._

 _Lola Agreng placed the tall glass of deliciously sweet sago't gulaman on the bamboo-weaved place-holder that was situated on the high, glass table near the left side of her couch._

 _Her dark brown eyes looked at me with fondness and love as she beckoned me over to her with a pat of her lap._

 _However, Lola Agreng wasn't my grandmother, she was Ryan's._

 _He had inherited his dark brown eyes from her, after all_ _―with thick, beautiful lashes that both Ciara and I envied him for._

 _I obediently followed her silent command. After crawling my way to her feet, I kneeled down and placed my small hands on her lap. Lola Agreng placed her darker-skinned and wrinklier ones over mine, and I idly wondered if I should be feeling the cold that radiated from her palms. This was still just a dream, after all._

 _She twirled one of my pigtails in her other hand, scrutinising the hard work Ciara had poured into my hair. She clicked her tongue in disdain and painfully pulled off the band that was holding my hair up. I winced, but was glad when my freed hair fell down to my back and chest. Lola Agreng repeated the same action with the other tail, and I felt my shoulders relax once all of my hair was down._

 _She weaved her fingers through the tangles my hair had collected from playing underneath the sun with Ciara and Ryan. "There," she murmured to me. "You look better like that, don't you think so, Kalayaan?" she told me, using her nickname for me._

 _She called me 'Kalayaan,' which was Filipino for freedom. Because back then, when I was much younger and my dad hadn't been killed, I was still taking up dancing lessons. She called me Kalayaan because whenever I danced for her in exchange for her homemade kamote cue, I had reminded her of a free flying bird that she would commonly see whenever she walked from her apartment to her university. She had told me that the bird was called a Maya-maya from the country she had hailed from, and that I was just as small as the bird was compared to other birds._

 _She called Ciara 'Matamis,' which meant sweet in Filipino_ _―because Ciara had been the sweetest and most polite child she had ever met._

 _She called Ryan 'Apo,' which was grandchild in Filipino_ _―because he was her grandchild, and one of the many she treasured greatly._

 _"Will you listen to this old woman's words, Kalayaan?" She asked me as she lovingly stroked my cheek, her brown eyes boring into mine, and the tone of her voice coming out in a hypnotic lull that never failed to make me feel drowsy._

 _I gave her a beaming smile. "Of course, Lola! I'll always listen to you!"_

 _Lola Agreng merely chuckled. "I can't wait for the time you'll grow older and you'll eat your own words back..." She quietly murmured as she rubbed my chin with gentle eyes. I gave her a confused look to which she laughed at and told me not to think about it._

 _"Kalayaan," She started out, stroking my rippled hair this time. "Never_ ever _listen to what a man tells you to do," she wisely advised me. "Because only a woman knows what she can really do for herself."_

 _I tilted my head at her, my eyebrows furrowing deeply. "But why? Grandma Mercy told me that a woman should always listen to a man..."_

 _"Then Grandma Mercy is a fucking idiot," Lola Agreng sniffed, and I was torn between giggling and giving her a gasp. Seeing the smile that came along with my wide, horrified eyes, she gave me a sly smirk. "What? It's true! Only a naive fool would listen to_ any _man," she jutted out her bottom lip, pouting. "Listen here, Kalayaan. A man will only hinder you from your path to success; so, listen to what the woman inside of you says and you'll be sure to accomplish your goals," she proudly told me._

 _But I was still perplexed. "But why, Lola? What happens if I_ do _listen to a man?"_

 _Lola Agreng paused, and she glanced down at me with brown eyes that scrutinised me as a young child. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing herself for a long speech. "Kasi-" She paused for a moment, her eyes_ _widening in surprise, before she gave me a sheepish smile for having slipped back into her native language. "Because," She started out again, confidence washing her voice. "When I was younger,_ much _younger," She added, giving me a dry look once I gave her a mockingly doubtful look. "My papa tried to stop me from leaving my home country," She told me, and both of my eyebrows raised at that, a look of interest masking my face. "And if I listened to him, I would have never had what I had now," She murmured softly, her eyes softening in sadness._

 _I frowned, not really liking the look of grief on Lola Agreng's face, and tried to coach her to continue. "And what changed your mind, Lola?"_

 _Lola Agreng snapped out of whatever reverie she was in, and focused her attention back to me. She gave me a sigh and a loving smile as she caressed my hair. "My mama had changed my mind," was what she had told me. "She told me the same exact words i'm telling you now, to never listen to what a man tells you to do."_

 _I gave her a mischievous look. "You told me to never_ ever _listen to what a man tells you to do," I corrected her._

 _She gave me an unimpressed look. "Ha ha ha," she mockingly laughed at me. "Nakakatawa talaga, Kalayaan," she murmured to me, and I gave her a look of confusion to which she told me to not dwell over it since it wasn't that important. I gave her a doubtful look to which she ignored and continued on. "But the meaning's all the same...ne?" She told me, and I reluctantly nodded._

 _"Anyways, my mama had told those exact same words. And, a week after, ignoring my papa's painful words, I had already packed up my belongings and was now boarding a plane to America. And, sincee I decided to listen to myself, I married a deviously handsome husband," Here, she gave me a wink, to which I responded with a disgusted look. Old people romance was sweet and all, but them being all mushy mushy was just...eeeeew! "Had a beautiful and loving daughter, and so many,_ many, _"Here, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Grandchildren that I love very much and would never trade them for the world," she grinned proudly, her teeth showing._

 _I grinned back at her, proud of her as well, as I clapped my hands._

 _And then, all of a sudden, she looked down at me again, her expression soft. "Which is why, Kalayaan, when the time comes for you to grow up, listen to my words," she murmured to me, her old age showing through her voice. "Never ever listen to what a man tells you to do; Best fast, be smart, be strong, and most importantly be_ yourself _―because in a world of adults, that attitude of yours will surely help you," Lola Agreng gave me a gently smile._

 _I furrowed my eyebrows at her in perplexity, and jutted out my bottom lip to give her an indignant pout. "But I'm only seven years old, Lola! It'll be a long time before I reach eighteen and become an adult, so let me YOLO for now!"_

 _Lola Agreng opened her mouth, prepared to retort, before she paused and gave me a disbelieving look. "Who taught you YOLO?"_

 _I gave her a toothy smile. "Ray of course!"_

 _She dryly looked at me. "And what does it mean?"_

 _"You obviously love oreos!" I beamed, proud of my knowledge that would make me facepalm five years in the future._

 _"It's 'You only live once,' Kalayaan," She told me. "My Apo was just messing with you again."_

 _I gave her a wide-eyed look, as if I'd just discovered the biggest secret the universe had been keeping all this time. "WEEEEH?!" I yelled back to her._

 _"It does," She nodded, not all apathetic to my internal turmoil at having been tricked by one of my best friends. "But...you should really listen to what I'd told you, Kalayaan."_

 _"But whhhhy?" I whined, pouting desperately. "I'm still seven! I still have a long time before I become an adult!"_

 _Lola Agreng's dark brown eyes zeroed in on my face, and I stiffened once I felt the the hand she had on my head tense up. "Kalayaan," She whispered my name, and there was a sympathetic look in her old eyes. "One can never be too young to become an adult," she whispered to me, and I felt a pang of sadness in my chest but I didn't know why I had felt it. "When I was twelve years old, I had lost my older brother to death because he had been trapped inside of our house that our neighbours had accidentally sent on fire," She told me. "And since I was the second eldest, I had to grow up and become a proper role model to my much younger siblings, and I had to be the one who had to help my mama support my family once my papa collapsed from the strain of his work as soon as I had finished my studies," She told me, and I was instantly enlightened._

 _I dipped my head downwards in an act of guilt and shame as I had realised how naive I had been. Lola Agreng's words had cut straight to me, and I had instantly been humbled by her life story and words. "Pasyensya na ho," I apologised to her in her native tongue, and she smiled lovingly at me as she patted my head._

 _"It's alright, Kalayaan. You're right, you_ are _still too young to even be thinking of this," She sighed wistfully. "But, just remember my words, alright?" She asked of me, and I nodded in agreement. "Because when the time comes for you to grow up_ _―when the time comes for your wings to be clipped back and for you to be locked up in a cage that would forever bind you, just don't forget my words, Kalayaan, it would do good for you in the future," She reminded me again, and I nodded. "Because it will remind you that even at your hardest time, never_ ever _give up. Keep standing up whenever you fall down_ _―stretch your wings even if the bindings that keeps them locked hurts you, endure through the pain because it will only teach you," She continued, her cold palm sliding down to my pudgy_ _cheek. "And you'll learn soon enough that if you endure hard enough, wait long enough, you'll reach your goals through handwork. And, before you know it, you'll already have released your wings from their bindings and have already escaped from your cage, flying in the sky just as free as a Maya-maya would," she told me as she cupped my face with both of her hands and leaned down to give me a loving kiss on the forehead._

 _When she pulled back, I saw the love and worry and grief that contorted her old 76 year old face that made her old, crinked dark brown eyes shine with tears. I blanched at her sudden shift in age, knowing that this certainly_ _did_ not _happen in my memory, as Lola Agreng wrapped her much wrinklier arms around my now larger body (and since when had I turned seventeen?)._

 _She stroked my longer and messier, dark brown hair, pressing her wrinkly forehead against my smoother one that had had a deep line in the middle to suprress how confused I was with the current situation. Her chapped lips parted, and her croaky voice spoke to me, "Maging ligtas ka, Kalayaan."_

 _I flinched away from her, blinking rapidly at her foreign words. "What?" I asked her, bewildered._

 _Lola Agreng merely gave me fond smile that crinkled the edges of her eyes, and she placed her worn-out hands on my upper arms to grip them with all the strength she had left in her. "Maging ligtas ka, Kalayaan," she whispered to me again, and I furrowed my eyebrows at her._

 _"Safe?" I tried to decipher. "Me?...Why? Will something bad happen? I'm still back home at Blue Keys...so why?"_

 _Lola Agreng merely gave me an anguished expression as she leaned her forehead back on mine. "Kalayaan," She murmured to me. "It has_ _already happened, or have you already forgotten about it?"_

 _As if on cue, I felt something click in my brain, and image streams of memories poured into my head as I remembered_ everything.

 _Abyss and Ryan dying. Ciara's safety. Primus. His request. The warmth that surrounded me before I blacked out._

 _My eyes were wide as I processed every single detail of these memories that I had forgotten, feeling tears build at the back of my eyes. I felt a calloused finger wipe the tear that threatened to spill down my cheeks, and flickered my gaze from Lola Agreng's stomach to her face._

 _"Don't cry, Kalayaan," she whispered to me. "Crying doesn't suit someone like you. You used to be so malakas"_

 _I ripped my gaze away from the kind, old woman that had used to feed me and my two best friends the delicacies of her home country. She was still Ryan's grandmother, and the fact that I had seen her grandson die (that fact that I hadn't_ prevented _him from dying), wracked my entire being with pain and shame. What would she say once she found out about Ryan? Would she be angry at me? For not having stopped it or moved away from him?_

 _"Lola..." I murmured, thinning my lips, weighing the pros and cons of telling her about Ryan or not._

 _I missed the affectionate smile the old woman gave me as she placed her wrinkly hand on my cheek. I leaned against her cold touch, understanding why exactly her touches felt cold. She was dead now, so of course she would feel cold._

 _"I've always been watching over my grandson, Kalayaan," She mused to me, the same hypnotic lull apparent in her voice that made me close my eyes for a sort time. "I've watched how he's grown into a man that I can be so,_ so _proud of. And, I know without a doubt, that he―" She stopped, a brief look of surprise contorting her wrinkly face._

 _"He?" I stared at her in expectation._

 _Her dark brown eyes drooped a little, and she seemed to be staring off in the distance, her chapped lips parted as if she'd been cut off from talking._

 _"Lola Agreng?" I called her name, placing my hands on her arms to gently shake her. She was still an old woman after all, and I didn't want to hurt Ryan's grandmother after all the love she had given me. "Lola-" I was interrupted when I felt something large and cold wrap around the entirety of my waist._

 _I yelped in surprise and twisted my upper body to glance at what had grabbed me, and was surprised and horrified to see a large metal hand had wrapped its thick and cold fingers around my waist. I glanced back at Lola Agreng, and was frightened to still see the dazed expression on her face. "Lola Agreng!" I cried, but she didn't respond._

 _When I felt the hand around my waist squeeze a little, enough to make it feel like my ribs were about to meet with their other pair, I squeaked and began retaliating against my captor. "LET ME GO DAMMIT!" I screamed as I banged my smaller hands against the metal hand. "PRIMUS, I SWEAR IF THIS IS YOU, I'LL KNOCK YOUR FRAGGING AFT SIX WAYS TO SUNDAY!" I hollered, knocking my right fist against the cold metal which made me flinch at the pain._

 _Wait, pain? Since when did pain affect me in my dreams?_

 _But before I could dwell over the subject, I felt the hand firmly gripping me pull back. I yelped again and increased my efforts in trying to escape._

 _However, the hand jerked back, and I was ripped away from Lola Agreng as I was dragged into a black hole._

 _The last thing I saw before darkness engulfed my entire vision was of Lola Agreng, still sitting daintily on the thickly-stuffed couch and looking at me with dilated dark brown eyes._

 _The same dark brown eyes that belonged to Ryan as he stared at me while he died._

 _I screamed once more, painregretanguishshameguiltdespair clouding my entire head, before I blacked out._

* * *

I snapped my eyes wide open, my entire body visibly tensing up, as I panted breathlessly in accompaniment to my furiously pounding heart. I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, memories of my dreams registering in my head as I wondered if this dream should be labeled as another nightmare as well. I sighed deeply, slumping down, which made me feel like something was vibrating deeply in my chest.

Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion at the weird sensation, I planned to place my hand on my vibrating chest to calm whatever was troubling it, and paused in brief surprise when I felt my wrist being restrained by something cold and uncomfortable.

Now that my head was feeling a little clearer than a moment ago, I noticed that my arms were pulled over my head and that my upper arms felt a little strained from having been placed into an uncomfortable position. Curious, I looked up, and felt everything functioning in my head come to a screeching halt once I saw something distinctly metal that had been shaped into what could have passed for as a hand.

A metal hand.

Feeling dread bubble up in my stomach, I decided to test my theory. I tried to wiggle my hands, and was completely horrified to see that the metal hand's black fingers wiggled as well.

I tensed up again, trying to comprehend just what exactly I had seen.

Ripping my gaze away from the metal hands that were bound to a large metal pole (were those _my_ hands?!), I reluctantly glanced down to see if whether or not my body was what I would be expecting it to look like.

Suffice to say, I was disappointed, because what I had been expecting was what I had _exactly_ seen. I gaped wordlessly as I stared at my chest that had _clearly_ been constructed from metal, and I experimentally arched my back up to see if the chest would arch up as well.

It did.

I gaped even more.

In my surprise, I dropped my back from its arch and felt an excruciating pain make its way up my brain. I squeaked, having never expected my back to hurt so much from having been slammed into the ground, and I felt something I _knew_ I didn't have twitch.

Tensing up again, I furrowed my eyebrows as I focused my attention on the extra appendages on my back, and I was horrified to receive a twitch in response.

What. The. Hell. Was. That.

Deciding to push away the thought of having extra appendages (because who knew what the frag Primus had done to my new body. For all I knew, he could have added extra hands to my back for all the shit I had yelled at him), I glanced back down at my body and was frustrated to see that my large chest blocked my sight from the other parts of my body.

If this was still my human body, I would have been _ecstatic_ to find out that my embarrassingly small chest had grown into these two beautiful babies―but since I wasn't in my human body and was instead in a _robotic_ body where all the females here had huge boobs and asses that any models would die for, I was incredibly frustrated and angry.

I tried lifting a leg up to inspect it, and was slightly appeased to know that I _could_ move my legs.

As I inspected my new metal legs, I whistled lowly once I caught sight of my feet. "Damn," I said, clearly impressed. "Those are some fancy heels I have," I said as my lips contorted into a grimace. "Wonder what kind of hell I'll have to go through while running in these bad boys."

Just as I was calming down from the situation Primus had _tricked_ me into (like frag I'd do what he want after all the shit he'd put me through. I mean, hasn't he'd ever heard of asking me nicely instead of electrocuting me?), I noticed something very odd with my vision.

I squinted, noticing that everything seemed darker, and realised with wonder that I was wearing a transparent mask over my entire face once a flash of light from somewhere made the screen shine brilliantly without blinding my eyes.

Curious, I wondered if I could remove it or make it go away like Optimus Prime could.

And then, before I could blink, something appeared on the screen of the mask. It was a small, square box with words that I could understand written over it.

And it was orange.

You see, during my 'conference' (if you could even call it that, with how one-sided I had deemed it to be) with the almighty creator of Transformers, I had developed a keen fear of orange.

Well, not exactly a 'fear.' It was more of a trigger to me―because for the me right now, orange meant bad. And when I see orange, bad things happen. It was kind of a motto to me now, like that one slogan in this book called, 'Animal Farm'

Thou which is orange is bad; thou which is anything but orange is good.

I know, very mean of me to demean orange, but if you were in my situation would you judge me? Huh huh huh? That's right, I didn't think so.

And usually, if I wasn't as immensely stressed as I was right now over my current situation, I would have jerked back in surprise; however, since this wasn't the 'usual,' I reacted differently.

Well... _over_ reacted, to be precise.

And what did I do?

Well, I did the most obvious thing anyone does when they're scared or surprised.

I _screamed_.

* * *

 **Word Count:** _37,208_

 **Time of Finish:** _July 26, 2015 at 5:53 P.M_

* * *

 **Prizes of the Winners:**

Sadly, there is nothing to write huhuhu D':

The Writer Akayla, decided to save her prize (and wise decision she chose haha)

Sariel Grace, already chose one, and by Primus I will push myself to make it. It's a scene she recommended to me, and I REALLY loved it, so I'm planning to integrate it into the story...so...yeah :'( No extra bonus story this time! Hahaha.

SunnySides, chose one but it's an event that WILL happen (so girl, choose another one right now! Or you could just save it I guess haha)

* * *

 **Winner(s) of this Chapter:**

 _So...we have three winners again! I don't know if I should be worried or proud of what kind of prize you'll want, but damn it! Hit me with your best shot guys! Anyways, the winners are AetheriusStorm, Cyber the Autobot, and Flameing Shadow. You all win with a tie of eight points! And, I just want to be the first to congratulate you guys! Mwahahahaha!_

 _Now, you know what your prize is 3 Tell me a scene you would want written, and I'll write it to the best of my capabilities haha._

* * *

 **Question/Task of this Chapter:**

 _Well, since I have exams on Physical Education tomorrow and its about Animal Sports, I've been studying about it and I've come across a VERY interesting sport that I couldn't help but imagine the Transformers playing._

 _Polo._

 _Guys. Give me a chance. Just imagine it. The Decepticons and Autobots playing Polo in their alt modes with either humans or holoforms as their 'riders' and holding sticks while trying to hit the ball._

 _Seriously, i laughed my ass off when I imagined it and I couldn't stop myself from imagining Megatron and Sam double teaming HAHAHAHAHAH._

 _So, if the Autobots and Decepticons were to_ ever _play this game, which pair do you think would win?_

 _In my opinion, it'd be Megatron and Sam HAHAHAHAHA. Because...seriously, just imagine it guys. With fire in their eyes/optics._

 _(Ps. It could a Decepticon-Autobot, Autobot-Autobot, Decepticon-Decepticon, Autobot/Decepticon-Human)_

* * *

Dear my beautiful lovely readers,

Did you like this over the top chapter that is three times the usual length? You better, because I worked my fragging aft off of this, hehe. Anyways, the elderly Filipina I used here was inspired by my own grandmother who had died from breast cancer as well. To those who have a loved one who have died or is suffering the same tragedy, I would like to tell you that I know the feeling of it, and I just want you to know that there will always be a chance that loved one of yours will survive, and I'll pray for your loved one as well because I don't want the same thing to happen to someone else.

Well, sad feels aside, I laughed my ass of when I wrote 'Maya-maya' because it reminded me of a thing I used to do when I was a child, and it was pretty embarrassing haha.

Welp, bye bye loves and see you again soon :)


	5. Chapter 5

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairings** **:** _Optimus/Elita-One; Ironhide/Chromia; Jazz/Prowl; Sam/Mikaela (indefinite, maybe?) ... for now. Still deciding the rest, opinions and reviews are welcomed to broaden my options._

 **Author's Note:** _Hey guys! Eri here~ So...yeah, appreciate this chappie here because I worked my fragging aft off for it in a computer shop, or, er a cyber cafe you wanna know why the hell I'm in a computer shop in the first place, it's because my friend got me addicted to a certain online gaming site called 'League of Legends' and, to be honest, it's a pretty great and badass game. So, if any of you peeps here play LoL, my name's SkyDrug30 and beware, I'm a newbie and my champ is Katarina and Annie (because c'mon! Look at Kata and her tits, and Annie and her charms?! Who the frag wouldn't like them?!)_

 _ **Replies to My Lovely** **Reviewers :**_

 _ **Yami-The Lord Of Darkness:**_ _Haha, nice to see you again, Yami! And yeah, you can bet your sugary aft that she will make their lives a living hell once she gets out of those chains...UNLESS-mwahaha. Well, you have to read the contents of this chapter to see if she tears them a part or not haha~ ;D  
 **SunnySides:** GIRL! :'D You reviewed! I feel so happy, hahaha. And yeah, she gets sent to the Neutrals hehe. I'm sorry if that wasn't what you envisioned, but this story will kind of have a slow build-up, because I saw a shit ton of potential at the OC-insert, so I thought, why not play with it more? And I feel like SUCH a copy-cat if I immediately toss her into Earth, and she'll kind of like be a super Mary-sue if she can kick both 'con and 'bot ass without a reasonable explanation aside from taking up tae-kwando classes when she was a kid. And, if you want to know more, go to the bottom of the chapter where you'll read the rest of my explanation xD I'm too lazy to copy paste it here, haha. And sorry, girl, but there won't be any OC/Jazz fluff in this fic ahaha. Only some serious Prowl/Jazz ones ;) What can I say? I'm a sucker for the two ahaha. I've fallen in love with their 'non-existent but still there' romance story since I was a kid haha. But girl, I WILL make sure that there is some serious Meg/Jazz __friendship_ _—because c'mon! Jazz is her idol, just below Soundwave of course, mwahahaha, so it'll be IMPOSSIBLE to not make them have an intense friendship. If I don't, be sure to shoot me with a shotgun, kay? And once you get an account, message me, capische? I wanna start messaging you perverted and funny crap, ahahahaha~  
 **Sarielgrace:** *sniff* *sniff* I'm not talking to you, HUHUHUHU. You wrote a story, without telling me?! (I'm still holding a grudge against you for that Dx) I feel so...Megtrayed...Well, I was lying about the not talking to you, because I still am, but I'm still sad! Huhuhu D': Anyways, sadness aside, Im glad you like the Megatron and Sam polo thing :D I was also laughing my ass off when I thought of it, and I wanted to share it with everyone else ahaha. And awww, thanks :))) I'm glad you liked the earlier chapter, hope you'll like this one. PS: Next time, alert me when you update or publish a story :'D Btw, awesome story :') I'm so proud! And see! You can write, girl! You can fragging write a fragging good story! ;D  
 **AetheriusStorm:**... O_O That's it, girl. Can I use your pen name? For a mech OC (Sorry, but there'll be less femme OCs in this story, for the plot maintenance, haha), but only if you don't mind...? He'll be super cool, I swear, and he'll be a part of my...erm, how should I say this without giving away spoilers? Well, he'll practically be a part of my 'dream team' but he's position in the team will be a secret for now ;) And sorry if you didn't like the long chapter, ahaha, my co-author's influence on me for writing long chapters seemed to have momentarily rubbed off on me ahaha. But I'm glad you liked it! And Meg's last name is Malcolm, if you see a Maelstrom or Malstrom there, sorry, but autocorrect really hates me ;3;. And I'll update this as soon as possible! Probably in less than two weeks, if that's alright with you...?  
 **AutobotCopperShadow:** Hi, girl! Nice ta metcha again! :D And glad you enjoyed both the sundae and chapter, ehehe. I'll be trying my hardest to REALLY perfect the plot and original idea of this story, but so far it's going great so far with a few positive quirks~ And thanks for reviewing :') Even a single review makes my spark hum with happiness ahaha.  
 **HeartsGuardianSol:** Oh, hey Sol! (Can I call you that? *puppy dog eyes**) It's nice to say a new reader here ;) And awww, thanks for the sweet review, and I also like how snarky she is to Primus xD I gave her a negative attitude to him in the beginning so that she wouldn't be blinded by his 'godliness' and can maintain a healthy friendship with him in the future, ahaha. Anyways, just wanna say that I'm a fan of your works! Especially your latest one, 'Ooops?' Just kept up the work, because it's funny and nice and simply breathtaking you know? Whenever I read a serious scene, I bring it up and read it, because...well, it's so simple and straight to the point, and I can see that there is always a deep meaning in each chapter :) Please, keep up the good work, fellow author :)  
 **Trransformers HM:** Hi again, THM! I'm so happy you reviewed :D And I'm very happy to hear that you greatly appreciated last chapter's length :D And I'm glad that I've switched your view of Primus in this fic, haha. But I'll be sure to slightly reverse it in the future haha, since I don't want Meg to have such an unhealthy relationship with him. It won't be good for her spark, after all, ne? And...yeah, haha. They'll go home, once, and only IF, I decide I want a angst and sad chapter about them going back home. But...the question is, should they go stay back permanently, or temporarily? Diba?! (Haha, my Filipino's slipping out again xD) And, I guess you can say my covenant for Soundwave is slowly growing, haha, and I can bet my entire body that Soundwave is either weirded out or shocked that he has so many fangirls at his command cx. OH! AND I FRAGGING KNOW THAT STORY! CRYSTAL! I know how much of an awesome writer Ty-Chou is, and I'm still waiting for Rising Generations to update, dammit.  
_

 **Just A Little Message to All Readers:**

 _So guys, I got some bad news. Well, I have exams coming up soon (in like a week or two, but my stupid teachers don't want to give the schedule out yet, something about 'preparing ourselves' Pssssh, how the hell do they expect us to prepare without a fragging schedule? Idiots, I swear.) and I won't be able to come online haha._

 _Oh yeah, and I have a favor to ask of your guys. I'm looking for a beta-reader, someone who'll help with my chapter writing and fixing my edits. Usually, I'd ask Choco, but she's much to busy with her side projects, which is why I'm resorting to asking my lovelies and fellow Soundwave worshippers._

 _So...help? :'D_

 **A Pissed of Message where I vent out alll of my anger:**

 _I'm pissed. As a matter of fact, I'm_ super _pissed off, angry, sad, and anxious because I got into a fight with, well, a girl who considered me her best friend. Look, I consider this girl as a 'friend' even a 'close friend' but 'best friend?' Sure, it could've been best friend if you gave it some time. What she doesn't seem to understand is that she's done so many bad things to me before, and then she thinks that it's bad for me to laugh about a few things about her then call me 'plastic'? The only thing I've done is laugh at a few jokes about her, and I'm starting to distance myself away from her and joining some people who can_ _really understand me for who I am (the crazy Transformer;anime;food loving girl). She said some things behind my back, saying that I'm not good enough for a guy I like or that I'm such a slut to several guys. Puta, all the guys I'm friends with have girlfriends, WHAT? YOU THINK MY LIFE GOAL IS TO SUCCOBOT THEM ALL?_

 _Just...I was hurt, y'know? And she's asking me why didn't I ask her? It's because how could I ask someone something that could likely been true? We were never friends before, she's done shit to me guys before, and I became friends with her again because she needed a new start. And then, funnily enough, this is the second time she's called me plastic. I'm telling her that I'm accepting two things: two start over again, or to destroy this friendship for life._

 _So...we'll be talking tomorrow, at lunch time...any suggestions? And rules, no slapping, no hitting, no hair pulling_ — _unless_ she _starts it. So...?_

* * *

 **Cybertron's Units of Time:**

Astrosecond: .498 Earth second  
Nano-klik: 1 Earth second (I don't normally use this though...)  
Klik: 1.2 Earth minutes  
Breem: 8.3 Earth minutes.  
Groon: 1 Earth hour  
Cycle: 1.25 Earth hours  
Joor: 8 Earth Hours  
Solar Cycle: 1 Earth day  
Orn: 13 Earth days  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar Cycle: 7.5 Earth months  
Meta-Cycle: 13 Earth months.  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

 _ **In Which Sigils Are Important**_

* * *

I stared cautiously up at strange weapon pointed at my face, too shocked and frightened to even _do_ anything. I had seen a lot of weapons in my life before, even _held_ most of them. In the life I lived—with a father who had sold his life to the US army, a mother who had spent two _decades_ of her life digging her hands into the bodies of people she hardly knew, two brothers who were idiots but _trained_ idiots, and a grandfather who had gotten the rank of _General_ —I had been taught at an early age that nearly any object around me could be used as a weapon.

That, and the fact that I was an anime junkie who could have been labeled as an even bigger genius than Albert Einstein as long as every question on a test was related to anime.

So, when a large black mech bursted into the room that I had been held captive in, growled out something that sounded more like a combination of disgruntled whirrs and clicks that made my eardrums (did I even _have_ eardrums anymore?) vibrate from the pain of having heard such a horrible sound, then pointed _something_ at me which halted my screams—and, suffice to say, I was both intrigued and surprised and downright _terrified_ of the blade nearly a centimeter away from my face that I had _never_ seen before.

Gosh, if Nico was here, he would have orgasmed at the sight of this _beautifully terrifying_ weapon, like the blade addict he was.

The sword wasn't really _just_ a sword—no, it was too small and slender for it to just be a sword. It looked more like a dagger, a very beautiful dagger to be precise. It's grip was a deep black that seemed to have characters (characters that I couldn't recognise for the life of me) inscripted into it; its pommel was shaped into a circle with a hole in the middle—probably used to insert ones finger into it—and was a deep bronze colour that dully shined; it's hilt guard was styled into a bronze quillon block that resembled a cobra's fangs with the very tips on both sides glowing a faint purple.

However, it wasn't its hilt that had caught my attention in the first place, but the dagger's blade that was pointed at my nose, or, erm, mask. The blade was long, too long for an ordinary dagger but short enough to not be mistakened for another longer blade; it gleamed a shiny, silvery shade, but it seemed like its fuller and tip was made out of pure glass because I could easily see the vividly coloured liquid that swirled within it.

As I stared deeply at the neon purple liquid that swirled around hypnotically in the blade, a small, digital screen popped up on my transparent face mask right beside the ( _accursed_ ) orange one.

Luckily, the newest message was red.

I disregarded the orange one, and read the contents of the red box.

It was a warning notification, so it seemed, because it had identified the purple liquid as a virus—which I could pretty much sum up was the Cybertronian term for poison. And, once I had read the notification box's contents, it popped out of existence, and I blinked surprise, jerking my head back a little at the sudden ping that resounded in my head.

Unfortunately, it had seemed like the mech in front of me hadn't appreciated my sudden movement and had pressed the blade a little closer to me that the tip was nearly touching my cheekbones.

The black mech towered over me, his engine growling dangerously at me as his dermas moved to tell me something.

I furrowed my eyebrows at him, not quite understanding what _exactly_ he was saying. Boy, what I would give just to communicate with him and tell him that I didn't know a single frag about what language he was talking in.

Just as the thought had passed through my mind, another notification box appeared—this time, it was neon green in color and was much larger than the other two that had appeared.

I momentarily flickered my attention from the angry mech's faceplates (and goddangit, did _every Transformer_ have to have cheekbones that I would kill for?) to the notification box. I read its contents, a mix of understanding and bewilderment dawning over me as I finished reading the entirety of the message.

 **Unknown Transformer Language Detected. Permission to Identify?**

I stared blankly at it for a moment, not really knowing how the hell I should respond to it. Well, if I did know how to, then my answer would surely be hell yeah-

 _Ping!_

I blinked once the green notification box disappeared, only for it to be replaced by another one that was much longer in length.

 **Identifying Unknown Transformer Language: Complete.**

 **Unknown Transformer Language: Universal Cybertronian**

And then, it shrunk down into a little tab as _another_ notification window popped up.

I frowned deeply at the orange colour, but didn't dare to say or do anything—not unless I wanted the virus-coated sword to dig into my face, thank you very much. I hesitantly read its contents, and was even more befuddled and amazed by it, wonderment masking my features as I silently questioned myself if this was even real or not.

 **Permission to Downloading Every Available Content Pertaining to Universal Cybertronian?**

I stared dumbly at it—because c'mon! It was asking me to literally _download_ a language and by Primus, was _this_ how Transformers lived their entire life? Just downloading stuff from somewhere? Why couldn't _humans_ have computers for brains instead?! It could have saved us a lot of torture from what we know as school, or the 'Hellhole' known to every child out there.

Feeling a little cheated on how comparably _easy_ it was to have a Transformer's processors, I accepted it, unknown of the consequences of downloading a _very_ large storage of data.

So, after my processors had nearly crashed itself from the sudden onslaught of fifty gigabytes of data after fifty gigabytes of data, I realised my mistake as an immense and blinding pain flared out in my head. A human brain and a Transformer's processor were no two different things—they could learn and accept data that were given to them. They could memorise it, store it for other times, and even be used to calculate formulas. And, most significantly, once its given too much information or stimulation at once or in a very short time, it could overheat and either halt functioning for a limited time to evenly distribute and organise the data or crash from having its memory cores strained to the maximum limit depending on the species.

It was just that a Transformer's processor had larger memory cores and a higher pain tolerance compared to a human brain. But even the superior Transformer processor couldn't handle the sudden intake of data that composed of hundreds of hundreds of information regarding a _single_ language.

I internally berated myself for being so, _so_ stupid and utterly idiotic as darkness slowly clouded my processor—and, before I knew it, I blacked out with a throbbing ache in my head.

* * *

 _I've really got to stop fainting,_ was, embarrassingly enough, the first thought that came to my head once I returned back to the land of the conscious. There was a dull, numbing pain that throbbed in my head; however, compared to the pain before I blacked out, this one was much more tolerable. I felt something move across the surface of my chest, and once I showed any signs of movement, it had immediately retracted away from me, as if I was going to bite it once I took notice of it.

I slowly opened eyes, absolutely dreading whatever it was I was going to see, and blinked slowly to process in the sight of having seen a pair of normal-sized, metal hands just hovering above my body. My gaze traveled up the black, slender fingers, taking note of the dark silver armour that served as a wrist guard with a stripe of dark green at the side. Eventually, I moved my gaze from his mostly silver armoured arm to look directly at the mech's face, and I cautiously stiffened up once I saw that he was intently looking at me with narrowed, neon green optics.

The eerily coloured, yellow rings within his neon green optics gyrated, its size widening as the unknown mech scrutinised me—and I had the vague feeling that he was trying to puzzle me out; I didn't blame him, in fact, because I was a complete conundrum to him as much as he was to me.

Deciding to turn my attention to somewhere else once I started squirming underneath his intense gaze, I flickered my eyes to check my surroundings—and was surprised and slightly bemused to see that the same black mech that had pointed a blade at me was being berated by a much smaller mech that had a weird, aristocratic-like helm.

I strained my ears to better hear whatever the small, indigo coloured mech was trying to say, and felt a surge of triumph blossom in my chest once I could hear and _understand_ the mech's words.

"-you even know just what the frag Rouge will do to you once she finds out what you did?!" The small mech demanded, shaking his knuckled fist which made his golden-plated wrist guard glint briefly.

I watched as the larger mech, who had his servos crossed over his broad chest, rolled his ruby red optics—and I jerked back in surprise, fear welling up in the deepest and darkest depths of my gut as I realised that the mech had _redredredred_ optics and he could have been a 'con because red _always_ meant Decepticon. However, I took one look at the smaller mech, and noticed that _his_ optics were bright blue in colour, and I was both relieved and befuddled by that. Blue optics meant Autobot, and I felt comforted by the idea that an _Autobot_ was in the same room as me when there was a _Decepticon_ within the area; however, what confused me was _why_ was a 'bot and a 'con interacting like that without exchanging blows?—as one of his lower canines jutted out from his dermas. The large, black mech growled out with a deep voice. "I didn't do anything bad to her," he deadpanned.

The smaller mech gave him a deep frown, undoubtedly looking unimpressed. "You _handcuffed_ her to Rouge's lamp post, _and_ you also forced her into rebooting."

Again, the larger much huffed as his irate facial expression didn't shift. "The femme's _fine_ , Domino. Look, there's not a single scratch on her."

The smaller mech—Domino, I guessed his designation was—briefly glanced at me to probably inspect my exterior, and I consciously looked down to examine my now metal body— _chassis_ , I chided myself, because it would only be awkward to refer to my new body as 'metal body' all the time.

I swept my gaze over my chest compartment, intrigued with the light yellow stone that glimmered at the center of my teal coloured chest armour. Every single piece that Primus had used to construct me was gleaming proudly underneath whatever light there was, and, since I was like any other girl out there, I _loved_ this shininess.

"Precioooussss," I hissed lowly, a devilish, lopsided grin twisting my lips.

"Pardon?"

I blinked, ripping my gaze away from my chest, and I flickered my gaze from my body to the mech who was still kneeling to my side. If I didn't have the tinted, transparent mask covering my face, the mech would have seen the 'deer in the headlights' expression contorting my features. "What?" I responded, sounding _incredibly_ intelligent.

The mech's neon green optics stayed on my face for a moment, and I shifted uncomfortably underneath his intense gaze once again—because _damn_ , this guy could stare at a wall long and hard enough to make it _talk_. Fortunately for me, he closed his optics and turned his neck to the side so that he could 'politely' release a sigh of relief.

"At least you can talk in Cybertronian," he muttered, and I squirmed in guilt—because, well, I _didn't_ , but then I cheated and now I know. But, all's fair in love and war, right? Or, er, dialect and language? "One of my companions told me that he had found you in a space pod," he told me, making me blink owlishly at him in confusion.

"...Space pod?" I asked him, finding the term familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. I had read about it on several fan fictions before, and it was described as a circular vehicle that only a single Transformer could fit in and use for a means of transportation from plant to planet or from galaxy to galaxy. Usually, it was the outer shell that protected Transformers from the Earth's atmosphere when they entered through the troposphere. Despite my knowledge about it, it was only _hypothetical,_ and I was eager to learn more about _facts_ than _guesses_.

Plus, wouldn't it just be embarrassing if I accidentally messed it up during a conversation with someone else?

The mech in front of me slowly bobbed his head up and down, apprehensive with how to comprehend my reaction. "Yes...An intergalactic vehicle used for transportation limited to only one ordinary sized mech to two ordinary sized minibots," he elaborated slowly, and I nodded in understanding. The mech vented deeply, his fingers reaching up to massage the metal skin over his temple. "Primus, you must have only been recently upgraded from your youngling frame to not know what a space pod is."

I felt a little bit of panic well up inside of me—because what would happen if he found out that I had been a human? Would he tell the other Transformers? And were we even _in_ an Autobot base? Because, judging by the red-opticed mech a few meters away from me, I doubted we were even _near_ an Autobot base—but I shoved it to the darkest corners of my mind as I swiftly nodded to agree with his assumption.

Whenever my dad and his team would celebrate their yearly anniversaries, they would bring their wives and children along with them. Uncle Alec had been the only one who didn't have a family of his own yet, being only twenty two and having recently joined the force two years before he had been stationed into my dad's team. And, when us children would see one another again, we would always play these silly little games that Fred, the oldest among us and Uncle Clay's only son, would come up with. There was 'War,' 'Bang Bang Stab,' and, my _absolute_ favourite, 'Captive.'

Captive was a game where the players would be divided into two teams: Team Desert Hawk, and Team Tundra Eagle. Before the game started, each team would have to go find their own hideout—which would usually be behind the house, in the attic, in the master bedroom's closet, etc. Then each team would have to draw straws, or 'Viva Sit.' The one who got the last straw, or whoever was too slow to sit the fuck down fast enough, would be the other team's captive.

And then, the only other rule of the game was to 'torture' their captive to get the information or location of where the enemy team's hideout was. The team who wins the game is the team who first finds—or 'ambush'—the other team's hideout, or if the captive manages to escape back to their teams' hideout.

If there was one thing that I learned from Captive, it was that if one asks something from you or suggests something to you, you nod and agree with them—a little twist that I had learned to deceive the game's rules was that _lying_ wasn't prohibited.

Now, I may not have been the best liar in the whole world, but I damn well could act innocent and merely nod my head.

"And it's a Primus fragging miracle that you can understand Cybertronian. I was worried for a klik that you wouldn't be able to understand us when I found out from one of my companions that the space pod we found you in had originated from an organic planet," the mech said, and I absently nodded my head in agreement.

Wait.

Hold up.

Back it up now.

Did he say just organic planet?

I blinked owlishly at him, the startling realization of his words having been thoroughly processed by my processors, and I furrowed my eyebrows— _optical ridges_ , I berated myself again, because dammit I didn't have a fucking human body anymore thanks to the most worshipped deity of the fragging Transformers race—behind my mask. "Aren't we on...Earth?" I hesitantly asked, feeling an icy sensation of dread to settle in the bottom pit of my gut once I saw the evident confusion marring his faceplates.

"Erk?" The mech tested, incorrectly pronouncing the word—my _planet_ , my _home_ , the _place where everyone I knew and loved was_ —as he furrowed his slim optical ridges at me. "If you are referring to your sparked planet, then I'm sad to say that we aren't," the mech vented deeply as he shook his helm from side to side. "We aren't on Erk, but on Cybertron—where the very civilization of our race first started in."

His words were like a metal hammer slamming into glass—a hard, brittle substance that once dropped, broke into a hundred or more fragments of glass shards that one could never fully simply 'put back' together. And to me, it had felt like his words had just slammed into the glass of walls that had built up my entire life. I couldn't help but imagine reality having a sharp crack in the middle, and with just the gentlest of touches, everything simply fell down around me in a shower of glass shards. I imagined those glass shards that rained around me to be the memories I had lived through—the ones I had lived through as a _human_ , before I met _Primus_ , before _all of this_ happened—and watched as it slowly crashed to the ground, breaking into even more, tinier pieces that I knew I could never simply _put back_ together.

"No," I muttered, and tried to bring my hands to my helm to cradle it. However, the eery sounds of metal cuffs rattling against another metal object and the feeling of the reprimanding strain on my upper servos and wrists reminded me that I was still chained to a pole, restricting my movements and from even _comforting_ myself. "This...This can't be real," I said, my voice rising a bit as I felt something in my chest _tingle_ and _hum_ with energy. The _thing_ in my chest felt soothing and warm, like it was trying to tranquillize my raging emotions; however, it was quickly overwhelmed by the fierce anger and betrayal and anguish and _so much more_ building up inside of me like an over-charged battery just ready to explode if it wasn't contained soon enough.

Reality was already a cruel, pitiless, terrible, and dark place—and not a good place to live in. Only in stories could you find pity, comfort, happiness, and love. Stories loved anyone who read them, gave them security and friendship and didn't ask for _anything_ in return: They never went away. Never, not even when you treated them badly and forgotten about all the happy times you spent with them.

So...why? Why, why, _why?_ Why was the story—the story that I adored, loved, and treasured the most and _never_ forgotten about even as I grew older—treating me like reality would? _Why_ was it doing this to me, when I had already planned everything for the future I was _sure_ to accomplish? I had planned to finish high school without any major problems, graduate from college with a Bachelor's degree in Engineering, enlist myself into the US military to _feel_ what my father had sacrificed so much for, then retire at a very early age and, if I was very fortunate enough and still stupid enough to hope for, find someone else—find someone _safe_ , and without the risk of leaving me too soon—I could love, settle down with, have children with, and grow old with.

I had it all planned out—so _why?_ What had I done to deserve this much cruelty from something I love very dearly? I knew I wasn't a good person, but I wasn't a bad person either. I had hurt people, I knew that, but who hadn't? So _why_ was this all happening to me? Why wasn't this happening to someone else?

Why was Transformers ruining my life?

"How could you?" I growled, feeling my unbridled anger rise up to the very surface of my protoform. I felt hurt and my entire being vibrated with an emotional scar quite similar to betrayal at its finest.

Primus had told me to trust him, but how could I _ever_ trust someone else who couldn't even trust me in return? How could I trust him, when all but he's done to me is cause me pain? How could I trust him, when all he's done for me is force the options I never wanted into my hand? What happened to option B and C? Would there always be an option A? Would I always have to be forced to do things that _I_ never wanted to partake in?

And what about all that crap he was spouting out about me stopping the war and saving his fragging fucked up children? How the fuck does he expect me to save them now—when I was on a planet that had been deemed dead millions of years before the Earth had ever been created? How the hell could I save his children now when I was on _Cybertron_ instead of _Earth_? Didn't he even _know_ that the Autodolts and Deceptimorons were waging their own war on a completely different planet far from the one I was on?

No. Primus probably _didn't_ , because he was too busy stuffing his helm even deeper into the deep crevice that was his aft.

Fragging afthole. Fragging aft hole who deserves to be moulded into a fucking toaster. Stupid fragging afthole who I should have ripped out even more of his wires. Stupid, _stupid_ fragging afthole for being such a selfish jerk who just _had_ to force me into doing this little fucked up mission he was babbling for who knows how long.

And stupid, _stupid_ fragging me for being such an idiot for even _feeling_ an ounce of sympathy and pity for the afthole. I shouldn't have felt anything for his sob story after all the shit he'd pulled on me.

I growled dangerously, the engine within my chest compartment—the chest compartment that the fragger had built for me. I bet he made this stupid femme chassis before he electrocuted me _again_ , so that he could stuff me into it regardless if I agreed to accept his stupid, fragged up mission or not—rumbling dangerously. The _thing_ in my chest thrummed deeply, sending a pulse of calmness, serenity and pacification into my boiling energon fuel lines.

 _Calm down,_ the thing inside of me sang harmoniously, and I unintentionally felt the muscles— _joints, joints, **joints**_ within my body relax a little from the tight rein I kept it in. _Breathe deeply,_ it instructed to me, and without really putting much thought into it, I inhaled deeply, counting up to eight in my helm.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight—then I exhaled, forcing a large puff of breath out of my intakes.

 _Calm down_ , it sang again, and I felt an overwhelming sensation of peace wash over my entire frame. I slowly slumped down, cautiously watching the three mechs in the room that had stopped to watch my effortless struggling for a minute, and I closed my eyes— _optics_ —to breathe in once again, taking slower counts from one to eight, then venting out deeply again, loving the way the air circulated into my intakes to cool my overheating frame and then releasing the pent up heat to join the atmosphere.

 _Think clearly_ , it pulsed a wave of serenity and determination into me, and I did so, not even bothering to question what the thing inside of me was, because it was just _there_ and it was _helping_ me.

And help was something that I could _feel_ was rare in this planet I had been forced into.

When I opened my eyes—optics, damn it. _Optics_ —I was rewarded with the exact same sight I had seen before I closed them. The large, black and purple highlighted mech was still staring at me with hostile, ruby red optics— _He didn't trust me, and I didn't trust him._ He had pointed a blade at me, and it had been incredibly stupid of me to not have registered it as an immediate threat instead of fangirling over its beauty—and the blade he had pointed at me with was fastened to an inventory panel at his outer thigh; the small, indigo coloured one with startling golden highlights was still staring at me as well, his palm laid flat on the larger mech's chest as if to stop him from moving. His own baby blue optics had been narrowed into a glare as he held his frame in an all too tense grip— _He didn't trust me either_. His stillness showed how wary he was of me, waiting for me to strike first so he would have a reason to strike back—and I briefly flickered my gaze to one of his servos where I could distinctly hear the sounds of gears smoothly whirring to life; the silvery gray mech with streaks of dark green across his armour was in the same position as the other two, tense and ready to fight, with the way his fingers twitched as they cautiously moved away from me.

None of them trusted me—however, I shared the same sentiment as well.

Feeling my flared up armour plating slowly settle down against my inner metal plates, I gave out one last vent as I calmed down, feeling slightly relieved that I felt the blood— _energon_ go back to my helm.

I could finally think straight now.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice coming out in a soft whisper that expressed the utter misery and hopelessness that I was feeling now that all the hot-blooded anger and fight inside of me had been drained out, making me feel cold and empty and so, _so_ miserable. However, I was calm enough to rationally think over my decisions which was sufficient enough for me.

The indigo plated mech answered me, a vent of relief flowing out of his intakes as he slowly lowered his raised servo. "You're on Cybertron," he answered, amiable enough.

I felt a spark of annoyance ignite within me, and the foreign object within me merely responded with a wave of soothingness that I submissively complied to. I took a deep breath, counting to three this time, before I slowly released it. " _Where_ on Cybertron," I specified, my lips plates pressing against the other into a thin line.

"Kaon," this time, it had been the black and purple mech that had spoken up. Well, more like growled out—looks like I know who to go to for some friendly conversation, ne?—as he pushed the smaller mech behind him, easily towering and covering the indigo plated mech with his much larger and darkly coloured frame. "In _our_ territory."

I narrowed my optics at him, not liking and appreciating the way he was treating me—at least the indigo and silver ones were being _civil_ unlike this jackass over here—but then I blinked in mild surprise when I heard an indignant squawk and the sound of metal roughly slamming onto metal.

" _Hey!_ " I heard someone call out, and I watched in shock as the indigo plated mech practically shoved the much larger one away from him, causing the black mech to stumble out on his pedes as he was suddenly propelled forwards. " _I_ was the one talking to her, not _you,_ VP!" The smaller mech complained, sounding a bit like he was whining pathetically, as he placed his hands on his cocked hip joints.

The larger, black mech snarled, his dermas pulling back to reveal his sharp dentals. "She's not a _guest,_ you glitch-head! She's a fragging _unknown!_ We don't even know if she's either a 'con or a 'bot," he said.

The smaller one's chest vibrated as he trembled with frustration. "But the AI told us that she was a Neutral! And she doesn't have a single decal on her!" He stubbornly insisted.

"The AI could have been configured to _trick_ us, Domino! Process, Domino, for Primus's sake, just _process!_ " The large black mech hissed, his hands clenching into tight fists as he seemed to be trying to control his growing ire.

Weirdly enough, it had been the smaller mech who had attacked first. I watched as he bended his knee joints a little before he leapt into action, releasing a war cry as he pounced onto the larger mech's chest, causing the two of them to tumble down into the ground with a deafening crash, and begin the 'Giant Metal Robot Wrestling Match,' that I had so affectionately termed it.

"Ignore those two," the silver mech wisely advised to me, shaking his helm wearily as he vented out deeply. I turned my helm to him, inclining my helm a little to show that he had my complete (and praise-worthy, thank you very much) attention. "They're always fighting," he summed up my entire conclusion of the two mechs currently brawling it out and re-enacting WWE on the ground, with war cries and screams and all.

"However," the silver mech started sharply, causing me to stiffen up once he had laid his neon green optics on me once more. "I have to agree with the both of them," he said, and the only warning he gave to me was a flashing glint in his green optics before he emitted a light that was the same shade as his optics that swept up and down my entire chassis.

I jerked back, my entire frame stiffening up when I felt something uncomfortably cold seep through my armor and roam the entirety of my insides, leaving traces of what felt like tingling sparks in its wake.

I forced myself to patiently wait for the entire process to end without reacting violently, squirming in my discomfort the entire time as I rubbed my chained hands together in an effort to relieve myself of the uncomfortableness even by just a little bit.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the green light shot back to the silver mech's optics—the original source of where it'd come from. The silver mech's frame stilled, and his optics dimmed into a bland shade of green for no apparent reason.

Meanwhile, I was wallowing in my self-pity, because, suffice to say, I felt _violated_.

It felt as if a million hands had roamed the entirety of my frame, _groping_ every single piece on the outside and on the inside of me. I felt dirty, like I was a dirty joke that was never used, like I wasn't a virgin anymore, like I'd just been _raped_ (or whatever felt close to it), and I shuddered in disgust as I thought even longer about it.

"What did you do to me?!" I demanded from him, squirming once again in discomfort. I felt my entire frame heat up in utter mortification—because, who knew? He could have just performed the Cybertronian form of sexual harassment without even me knowing about it.

It took a whole minute for the mech to answer me, and Before he did so, his optics had brightened up from their dim state until it was back to their original neon shade. He shuttered once, his optical ridges furrowing deeply, before he focused his entire attention on me. "I just did a simple scan on you to check your maintenance," he said, stating it as if it'd been the most obvious thing in the world. "What did you think I did?"

I wanted to say that I had thought that he was sexually harassing me, but that would only serve as awkward starter to this conversation of ours. I decided to ignore his question, and instead replied with one of my own. "Why did you scan me?"

I already knew what a scan was—it was already basic knowledge to almost everybody who had watched the movies, so I found no reason to ask about it. A scan came in three different types: To scan one's alternative mode, to scan another for medical purposes, and—ah, I forgot about that last one, but I'm sure it'll come to mind soon enough.

The silver mech tilted his helm, his optical ridges digging a deeper furrow. "Like I said, I was merely checking your maintenance, and to see if whether or not my companions were telling the truth about your systems percentages."

"My...systems percentages?" I asked, unfamiliar with the term. All I could hypothesize about it was that it was the percentages for systems, and I doubted my smartassness really helped.

The silver mech coolly regarded me, before he slowly nodded. "Yes. Your system percentages. I had to check if your systems were at a high percentage, and to see if your Interface System was really below ten percent, to guarantee that you had just recently been upgraded into your adult frame," he elaborated, and I slowly nodded my head in agreement.

"Yeah," I said, not really knowing just what the fragging Pit I had agreed to.

The mech narrowed his green optics at me, and I prevented myself from shifting in discomfort as I turned my attention to the wrestling mechs on the ground, greatly intrigued with how they slammed the other in the floor without any difficulty and performed moves I'd only seen on T.V. "Well then," the silver mech said, but I was too distracted by the rumbling mechs in front of me.

I winced, yet greatly enjoyed the way the indigo plated mech performed a crossed armbar on the black mech. Ooooh, that's just gotta hurt. Yeah! You go, indigo! Show them that small people are fragging badasses that could whoop your sock sucking afts any day!

"Pardon my intrusion then," the silver mech sliced through my thoughts, and I flickered my gaze to his faceplates that seemed to be scrunched up in concentration.

I felt something shift in the air over us, and I moved my aft to slowly inch away from the silver mech whose neon green optics seemed to have slightly dilated.

Had he recently smoked something?

I quickly snapped out of my thoughts when I felt something pulse against me—and I knew for sure that it wasn't the strange object that thrummed musically in my chest compartments—and I immediately tensed up, waiting for something to happen. Something most definitely involved pain on my part. Howeverm the pain never came, because the foreign feeling pulsed again, as if it was waiting for something to happen as well.

The pulsing feeling that vibrated against me felt... _weird_. Well, not really weird, but more like _strange_ since I had never experienced this foreign feeling before. There were several descriptions I could give as it pulsed against me once more, but it felt most like a poke against my skin—only it didn't feel like it was poking at my skin, but more like at something invisible but just _there_.

I didn't know what to do in reply, but when I felt the the foreign feeling slowly retreat away with a wave of disappointment and bewilderment that I _clearly_ felt but knew that those weren't _my_ feelings, but more so of an outside force.

Immediately, I panicked, and I felt something that had been compressed deeply into me suddenly flare out like a nuclear bomb that had just exploded from having to contain so much pent up energy within it. Without pondering too deeply about the strange energy that I felt oozing out of me that felt more like a second layer that coated my entire frame and created rhythmic waves as it slowly expanded, I reached out for the foreign thing, brushing my own wave of energy against it.

I felt the other wave of energy reel back in stunned surprise, and I slowly reeled back as well, feeling a little disappointed that I had received such a negative reaction from the other wave. I tried to compress my energy wave—thinning my dermas and furrowing my optical ridges in concentration as I found it very hard to do so—and just as I had learned how to **_slowly_** pull it back, I felt the other wave of energy reach out for me, its very tips brushing against mine.

I felt the other wave of energy release a small package of relief and curiosity, and I worried myself on my bottom lip as I pondered over how to react. It had seemed like the other wave of energy was releasing emotions, and I wanted to learn how to do that.

Unconsciously, and without me knowing, my own wave of energy thrummed back with worry, interest and with a silent question of, _how did you do that?_

When I felt the other wave of energy slowly overlap mine, cocooning me in a warm embrace, I felt all sorts of emotions bubbling within me—emotions that weren't _mine,_ but of someone else's. I flickered my gaze up to the serious mech kneeling in front of me, wondering if the other wave of energy was coming from him.

"What is that?" I asked him, my voice coming out in a soft, willowy whisper.

The mech in front of me shuttered his optics—and for a brief moment, I felt the other wave of energy over me spike up—before he onlined them and stared straight at my optics, or, er my face mask I guess? He gave me another of his intense stares that made me squirm again, suddenly feeling very nervous and anxious of what his words would be.

And then, as one, I felt both the other wave of energy and the _thing_ inside of me pulse with comfort, telling me not to worry myself over it and that everything would just be fine. I doubted the other wave of energy's silent words, but I trusted the thing inside of me more than I could ever for the mechs holding me captive.

"You don't know what an energy field is?" He asked me, his neon green optics narrowing in suspicion, yet I could feel the disbelief and bewilderment from his wave of energy.

I shuttered my optics. "...Energy field?" I tested, knowing that this term was familiar yet one that I wasn't knowledgeable about. I knew that the Transformers used it to feel the presence of another, but I never knew you could feel the emotions of other Transformers as well though this nifty energy field. "I...From where I came from, my pare— _creators_ never taught it to me," I hastily explained, inwardly berating myself for slipping up.

The silver mech shuttered his optics again, and I felt another pulse of disbelief and bewilderment radiate into my, what it was apparently called, energy field. "Your creators never...synchronized their energy field with yours?" At my silence, he added again. "Ever?"

I shook my helm.

"Then how do you and your creators connect?"

That sounded so wrong, was what I had wanted to say; however I pushed down my pervertedness and humor aside, and instead began weaving a tale of truths and lies. "No. I had been bo— _sparked_ on an organic planet, and the closest thing that I had to social contact was by talking with the organic inhabitants of my home." I wasn't exactly lying, per say, I was just _adjusting_ the story to my tastes.

"Were there no other Transformers?" The silver mech asked, his voice going a little higher as I felt his energy field pulse in slight distress.

Ah. Now _here_ was where I started weaving even more lies. "Not exactly. I had my creators with me, but there were also a few others of my kind who I would play with."

I felt relief seep out of his energy field and into mine, and I could clearly see his faceplates relax from their tense grip. "That's a relief then," he muttered lowly, but I could still pick up his whispers. "Where is this...Erk of yours?" He asked me.

At the mention of _my_ home planet, mispronounced as it was but still held the same meaning—it was where I had come from, where I had been born in, where I had _lived_ in—I instantly tensed up, my energy field escaping from the cocoon the other mech's energy field had wrapped mine around, and immediately reeling back into a tight, compressed ball that vibrated with uneasiness and grief just underneath the skin of my metal platings.

The first thing that came to my mind was, how could I answer this question? There were so many possibilities to it. I could lie, or, I could simply tell the truth. If I told a lie, then I would simply be weaving another story full of lies—and I knew without a doubt that this mech would ask sensitive details about this 'home planet' I had made up. Or, I could tell the truth, say that my home planet was called Earth and that it was still alive somewhere out there, probably being trampled on by the Autobots and Decepticons. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.

Unless, I decided to to mix a dash of creativity into a potful of truths with just a pinch of lies.

"It's not here anymore," I answered somberly, amputated by the emptiness and the sadness that I felt in my chest compartment. The thing inside of me thrummed with the same hollowness and graveness. It wasn't exactly a lie _lie_ , but more of a truth that had been dramatically twisted to suit my current feelings. And what I was feeling right now was **_that_**. I felt like the Earth that _I_ knew had been replaced by an exact replica of it, with the same people living in it, but with a slightly different trait that involved giant, sentient, robotic beings from another planet. It felt as if there was another me on this universe's Earth—because if I, who had been from another universe, was here, right now, on Cybertron and hosting the metallic body of a completely different species, then who's to say that this universe's me wasn't here as well?—and just the thought of it made me feel uneasy, because dammit, there could only be one of me, and the idea of another me somewhere out there didn't seem that fitting.

Dammit. For all I knew, Primus could have fragged up and sent me in the wrong universe, and if I found out that I had been placed in the fucking boot licking Shattered Universe, then so help me because I _swear_ I'd take my own life in the count of three.

Like hell I'd want to meet Optimus Prime in the Shattered Universe. He was fucked up—a hot, _hot_ mech with just the most beautiful flame designs that I had ever seen, but still fucked up in the processors.

"Oh..." The awkward tenor in the mech's voice broke me out of my stupor, immediately breaking the train of my slowly growing disturbing thoughts. "I'm sorry for the loss then..." He murmured meekly, his neon green optics moving to stare cumbersomely at the metal floor—which, I noticed, had a few dark pink stains on it that made me fear this place could have been a slaughter house for all I knew.

Feeling a little uncomfortable about the 'slaughter house' idea, I slowly nodded my head. "What's done is done, I guess," I grumbled, feeling a bitter feeling well up inside of me as I thought about _him_. The stupid omnipotent being that had destroyed my life and started this so called 'new adventure' of mine.

The mech lifted his gaze to connect with my masked one, and he hesitantly raised an optical ridge. "You are taking this...amazingly well," he pointed out, and I suppressed the urge to stiffen up.

"Well," I started, internally panicking over _WHAT THE FRAG SHOULD I SAY NEXT?!_ , before I forced myself to come out of my silent pause. "My, umm, creators taught me to always think calmly through an unexpected situation," I explained, having been forced to leek a little bit of truth, but I didn't think that he would be the least bit suspicious about it. Parents told their children to always to think smartly over a situation, right? Or was the generation these days too 'badass' to listen to it?

"You have mentioned your creators a few times before," the silver mech said, and I didn't suppress the stiffen that engulfed my entire frame, making my armor plating flare out in what I could guess was a threatening pose that made the silver mech's servos tense up. "...Are they somewhere on Cybertron?" He hesitantly asked me, his neon green optics narrowed into a glare, and I could hear the tell-tale sounds of gears whirring to life from his servo. Which servo though, I didn't have a single clue.

At the mention of my parents—images of my deadde _addeaddeaddeaddea **ddeaddead**_ **DEAD** dad flashed through my head, the memory of his peaceful face through the transparent glass of the white coffin burned intensely to the forefront of my head; the images of my lostlo _s_ tlostl _ostlostwherea **rey**_ ** _oulostlost_ WHERE **mom appeared, the most prominent one was of the last memory I had seen her, a small smile on her face as she firmly wrapped her arms around me, giving me a warm embrace, and telling me that she would be home the next day and to take care of both myself and Ciara and Ryan, before she went out the door and drove away with her car—I instinctly stretched the skin at the corners of my mouth, pulling the corners of my dermas back as I bared my dentals (which I hoped were incredibly sharp for when I bit his helm off) at him despite the fact that I had this stupid mask on and that he couldn't see the furious and possessive expression on my face. " _That's none of your business, mech,_ " I viciously growled out at him, leaning my upper body forward as far as I could until I felt the stern restriction that kept my wrists bound against what a pole. "My creators are none of your fragging business, so stay the slag out," I snarled, pausing for a split second to blink at the weird circles and diagrams that appeared on the screen of my mask, before I ignored it and focused my attention back on the silver mech.

The silver mech was still as stiff as a brick wall as his neon green optics warily regarded me. Despite it, his entire posture relaxed a long minute later, and I growled once again as I realized that he no longer perceived me as a threat anymore.

I _so_ could be scary. Just get me out of this stupid 'cuffs and let me beat it into you.

"My apologies," the mech apologized once more, making the foreign object that hummed within me pulse with forgiveness that I wasn't so ready to give. "I had no intention of bringing up any sensitive topics," he said, solemnly shutting the light in his optics. "I was only curious if you had come here alone."

Alone. That word had never sounded so horribleto me as it did now, because he was right. This mech was motherfragging right down to the T. I was all alone, in an environment I was completely foreign with, and in a strange place with not a single person—much less the same specie as I had been—I knew to be there with me. And the worst part? I had to do this _alone._ No help, no guidance, etc. I had no advantage in my current situation, aside form this accursed frame that Primus had the generosity and cruelness to transform me into.

I had _no one_. No mom, no Eric, no Nico, no Abyss, no Ryan, and no Ciara. Fuck, I'd even trade my servo for just the company of Eric, the brother I had gotten along least with how much of a jackass he was to me.

I felt the thing inside of me thrum with longingness, quietly singing out for my beloved people. They were the people (or, er, _cat_ in Abyss's regards, but she felt more like a friend than a pet to me. The friend that I told all my secrets to since I was just the child. She was the dolly that I kept like all you girls reading this right now, and I could bet that you told your most deepest and darkest secrets to your blankie, teddy, dolly, whatever, just like I had.) I loved the most, treasured the most, and would give my entire life to just to see them once more.

Goddammit Primus, couldn't you have kidnapped me right _after_ you at least let me say once last good bye to them? Couldn't I at least have that one last moment that those characters in those stories had right before they had to leave on some adventure or died?

Dammit, now _I_ was jealous of _sad movies_ now. What an achievement in life I have unlocked.

I merely vented out deeply, the foreign object inside of my chest flooding me with waves of soothingness and calmness that I couldn't resist. Slumping my shoulders down, I closed my optics, took a deep breath to my intakes, silently counting to eight once more, before deep breathing out. "Are there any Autobots and Decepticons nearby?" I asked him, wanting to immediately change the topic that wouldn't edge closer to my privacy proximities.

As I'd expected, the silver mech stiffened up—because _anyone_ could accurately guess that a Cybertronian would feel unsettled by the usage of the simple terms 'Autobot' and 'Decepticon.'—and his optical ridges dug a deep burrow as he inspected me. "And you know this...how?"

Because they're the fragging reason I can't go back home anymore, was what I wanted to say, and I was _right_. If the Autobots and Decepticons hadn't waged a war that could have killed millions, then Primus wouldn't have to worry that much about his children, right? If _only_ those Autodolts and Deceptimorons learned how to _fragging clean up after their mess_ , then I wouldn't be in this fragging mess of theirs.

However, I slammed down the urge to go into an all outright rant of how stupid the two factions were, knowing that it would do no good for me to reveal such sensitive information that these mechs, who are now holding me captive, shouldn't even know about in the first place. "My brother had told me about it in his stories—about Cybertron, about the Autobots and Decepticons, and about the war that happened between those two factions—but I never believed them, until, well, I landed on Cybertron," I said, and that wasn't really a complete lie. Eric had been the one who introduced me to Transformers when I was but a wee little tyke who made pie cakes and threw anything within my react at practically anybody, he had been the starting point to the series, and he had spoiled me about the entire plot line of the 1986 G1 series. And, well, I never really believed that Transformers were real—until now, ironically.

The silver mech stayed silent, his neon green optics narrowed into an intense glare as he studied me. This time, however, I didn't squirm (and I was damn proud to say this) but instead twitched. "...And what is your brother's designation, if I may ask?" He questioned me, but the firm tone in his voice left no room of denial.

Ugggggh...

I stared blankly at the mech, the thoughts in my processor coming to a complete halt once he had asked me what my brother's name was. There was absolutely nothing that came to me—because how the hell should I answer his question? Should I tell him my brother's real name? Or should I invent a completely new one? After that thought had appeared in my head, I immediately chose it; inventing a name sounded much safer, and it's not as if this mech would _ever_ meet my brother, much less a member of my family, for as long as we're stuck here on Cybertron, which I doubt _I'd_ easily get off.

But, the main question was, what should I name my brother? Erik wasn't an option, because that was his _real_ name and it would sound odd to a Transformer for a mech to have that kind of name. Transformers were usually names that came from one or more terms that usually described what made them unique or what they were simply proud of.

Bumblebee, a famous Transformers character and a rather exemplative example, was the exact epitome of his designation. For starters, he had the _exact_ colors of a bumblebee—a bright, sunny hue with streaks of black lines running across his chassis, or, if you wanted to be technical, then just a simple shade of yellow like his G1 counterpart. Two, he _acted_ like one. He was always buzzing around—and I wasn't talking about his damaged vocal processor—chattering about something and moving around, and just like his insect counterpart, Bumblebee was a _very_ social mech who tended to gravitate towards groups. Third, sharing the same aspect as a bumblebee, _Bumblebee_ was an exceedingly curious mech who sometimes managed to get into trouble, most of which because he had been interested with something instead of the prior mission or battle ongoing. And, lastly—well, the last thing that I could think of—Bumblebee was one freaking sweet mech that I wouldn't cross off my 'Dream Mechs' list. Bumble was sweet, adorable, and just down right _cute_.

And, when I heard that he had been reformatted into a new frame, I was quite disappointed when they and changed his name into 'Goldbug.' The designation Goldbug never really compared to how loved the designation 'Bumblebee' had been for the adorable, yellow mech.

Eric was my brother, which in turn made me know a couple of things about him that his friends didn't. He used to play with Bratz dolls with Ciara and I, mom would never assign him with dish duty since he always managed to break the glass plates and goblets since he was six, he had a crush on Frey Kanes—the nerdiest girl in his class, who now had an article written about her company in Times's magazine—and, he came home crying with the news of his most recent promotion from 'Rank-less' to 'Second Lieutenant' once he'd accomplished all three of his Basic Military Training, Tech School, and Officer Military Training right after he'd graduated from college. He was proud of his position in the US Air force, a pilot to one Lockhead Martin F-35 Lightning II—since F-22 Raptors were pretty much exclusives to those of Major or above ranks—and frag was he damn smug about it. There would never be a time when he would come home and never tell both Nico and I about how _awesome_ and _unbelievable_ it was to fly in the sky, all by yourself, and feeling the world pass by you in a myriad of colors as the sun's rays lighted up your way.

Eric told me how unfair it was that humans hadn't been born with wings, because if we were, then everyday would never be a dull day.

And then, it hit me—like a solid, red brick wall complete with grey cement all dried up.—and I knew _exactly_ what I was going to name Eric.

"Shatterwing." It was a designation that would have suited him perfectly. Because 'shatter' didn't come from his incomprehensible talent to develop slippery fingers whenever he held a plate made from fine china— _no_ , it was because he was the exact opposite of it. Eric wasn't weak, he was the farthest thing from it. He was _strong_ —just like dad had been. For Eric, the word shatter was a testament to how _he hadn't_. It showed how he hadn't immediately broken down into little pieces when mom, Nico and I had when we received the news that dad had died—no, Eric _comforted_ us first, and it was only when it was in the middle of the night did I hear him cry through the thin filament of his door. Shatter showed how Eric _wouldn't_.

And how I got the word 'wing?' Well, I felt like I was serving justice to his Transformers name by using his most recent obsession in life—aside from boobs, because Eric was _still_ a man with healthy hormones and who could tell the difference between a man and a woman with just a roam of his gaze.

And wow, I just realized that I've just complicated a single question into dozens of thoughts and theories, and all in the matter of a minute. However, I passed it off as an advantageous quirk from having a better brain.

"Shatterwing," the silver mech repeated, as if confirming something, and a wrinkle appeared on the metal skin of his forehead. "And is he a Neutral...like you?" The silver mech tentatively asked me, as if he was unsure about me being a Neutral.

Almost instantly, I was on the defensive. "Depends," I answered curtly. "Who's asking?"

The silver mech shuttered his optics in confusion, unfamiliar with my humanistic play of words, but he slowly replied, "I am."

I narrowed my optics at him, glaring through the glass of my face mask. "And are _you_ an Autobot to a Decepticon?" That was one of the major questions that revolved around my helm. With a quick glance to the wrestling mechs to the side, I confirmed my thoughts that the smaller one still had a pair of vividly blue optics whilst the larger one had a pair of demonic red ones. It had been drilled into my head since I was but a child that Transformers with blue eyes were automatically Autobots, whereas those with red ones were automatically Decepticons, whilst those with optics of different colors belonged to a faction depending on their symbol.

Wait.

I blinked, remembering something _incredibly_ important, and I tilted my helm back to hit it against the metal pole.

What. An. Idiot. I. Was.

I had forgotten— _forgotten about the most fragging obvious thing that any child a quarter my age would remember once they see a Transformer!_ —and I mentally berated myself through the stinging pain that sourced from the back of my helm.

And, just as I was about to inspect the silver mech's frame, the aforementioned mech coincidentally said, "What do you think?" He had a certain edge to his tone this time, and I winced once I realized that I had probably hit a sore spot. Transformers commonly didn't like to be thought, much less _pointed out_ , that they belonged to a faction that wasn't their own.

I inspected the silver mech's frame—the thing inside of my chest thrumming with trust and comfort—and I came to the conclusion that _he didn't have one_.

"You don't have one," I breathed, my optics slightly widening in surprise. I had seen Transformers without faction symbols to identify them as either a 'bot or a 'con, but _seeing_ and _talking_ to one in real life practically took my breath away. "...What are you?" I asked, the only thing that that came to the forefront of my processor.

"I'm just like you," he answered, his shoulders slumping down from their tense grip. "I'm a Neutral. The ones Decepticons would shoot down in a heartbeat, and the ones that Autobots would never think twice about," he rumble, causing the engine in his chest compartment to give a deep rev. "We're the ones that never chose a faction, or the ones that left their factions," he vented out deeply. "Basically, we're what you could call as 'casualties,'" he said, and I didn't miss the bitter edge to his voice.

I stared at him in stunned stupor, the newfound information processing into the complicated structure of wires and chips beneath the protective coverings of my helm. I knew the what exactly Neutrals were, but I had never expected to see one on _Cybertron_ of all places. I had thought, or hypothesized, that all the neutrals had retreated off of Cybertron—because it had been implicated in several Transformers universes, like the Bayverse and Prime one, that Cybertron was _dead_ and not a single faction-less Cybertronian had been left on it aside from their corpses.

I felt the foreign thing inside of me thrum in sadness and remorse once I actually registered the state Neutrals were considered on Cybertron, and I felt my chest tighten at the horrible feeling. My face contorted into one of anger and pity—because this was just _wrong_. Everything was _wrong_. There might have been a war going on, but that didn't mean that those who didn't want to be in it should be _included_ into it. Neither faction could be excused from this... _ **horrible**_ conclusion. Because _so what_ if you were a Neutral? That didn't fragging mean you instantly became target practice for Decepticons, nor did that instantly mean that Autobots were to ignore your very existence and look away once they see you suffering underneath _their_ mistakes—all because you were a fragging Neutral in the first place.

"Have the Autobots and Decepticons left?" I quietly asked him, hoping against hope that those two accursed factions had left this planet for _good_ , and that Shockwave hadn't been left behind to guard Cybertron like he did in most verses.

The silver mech raised a single optical ridge, and he curiously yet suspiciously inquired to me, "And you know this, how?"

I met his intense gaze with my own, sweeping my glossa over my dermas for not apparent reason aside from habit. "I don't, which is why I'm asking you."

The silver mech stared at me, and for a moment I thought that he had been looking straight into the very depths of my soul through my optics—but that was impossible, right? Because I had a mask on, so it would be impossible for him to look straight into my optics.—before he gave me a curt nod. "They have."

I licked my dermas again, grimacing at the taste of something oddly metallic register into my senses. "Since when?" It could have been a few million years since they've left, and if I was right, then they would currently be on Earth right now, the patriotic Autobots fighting together with the humans against the despicable Decepticons with Earth as the trophy for the triumphant side.

The silver mech's optics dimmed a little, and I patiently waited for him to come back to reality—because I can pretty much sum up that this was there way of rummaging for something in their head. A moment after, his optics brightened back to their vibrantly green shade, and I watched with an expectant and resigned air as he opened his dermas, already knowing what his answer would be.

"It has only been ten vorns since both factions left Cybertron," the silver mech told me. "And at least seven vorns since the last Autobots and Decepticons left Cybertron in search for energon," he told me.

I shuttered my optics at him, confused with the term 'vorn.' I knew it was used as a unit of time for Cybertronians, but I couldn't really remember it's exact equivalent in terms of Earth's Unit of Time. I knew that a single solar cycle was equivalent to a single earth day, and that a breem was probably around 8.3 minutes, and that a klik was 1.2 minutes.

But a vorn?

I furrowed my optical ridges as I dug through my memories, searching for what I was looking for. A groon was equivalent to an hour...A joor was equivalent to eight hours...An orn was equivalent to thirteen earth days...

...And a vorn was equivalent to eighty three earth years.

Mentally, I calculated how long has it been since the Autobots and Decepticons had left Cybertron, and was completely stupefied by the answer that my currently advanced processors had succeeded in calculating.

If my calculations were accurately correct, which I sincerely doubted, then it had only been 581 to 830 years since both factions had entirely left their planet.

But...that was impossible. It had _clearly_ been pointed out in _every_ Transformers universe that it had taken them _hundreds_ of _thousands_ of _years_ before they had even _onlined_ on Earth.

"What?" I dumbly stated, staring at the mech as if he'd just grown two helms. "You're not tripping me, are you?" I asked him, hoping to every deity I knew (and _yes_ , I included Primus as well, because even if he _is_ the current bane of my existence, he was still a deity. The deity that ripped me a apart from my dimension, then shoved me into this unfortunately familiar one right here. Well...at least I hadn't been shoved into an anime one, I guess?) that he really was tripping me.

"Tripping you?" The silver mech questioned me, tilting his helm to the side in confusion—and by Davy Jones's locker, his optics were _really_ freaking me out right now. The optical rings kept getting bigger and smaller. Normally, it would have looked adorable, but in the paranoid and weary state I was in, _adorable didn't exist_. "Pardon me, but I am unfamiliar with such a term...is it a common saying on your planet?" He questioned me.

"It is, and are you being serious with me?" I asked him, _again_.

The mech furrowed his optical ridges at me, contemplating my doubtfulness, before he nodded his helm. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" He suspiciously asked me. "Don't tell me that you saw some fragging 'bot or 'con a kilometer away from Cybertron's atmosphere...did you?" He asked me, leaning forward so that his faceplates were just a few inches away from my covered faceplates.

Instinctively, I leaned back, not liking how close he was to me—because _hello_? Personal space here, anybody?—and I slowly shook my head. "Ugh, no, I don't think so, I was kind of...asleep the whole time," I hesitantly answered his question, not really knowing how to answer, much less lie, to this one. "And I was asking 'cause I thought it'd been a million or so years since they left..."

The silver mech narrowed his neon green optics at me. "And what made you think that?"

I stared up at him, internally sweating in nervousness because there was a fucking limit to how well and long I could lie and keep up a facade underneath such pressure, and I thought,

When in doubt, blame Eric—and I beautifully did so.

"My brother told me," I said, the pitch of my voice going down a bit to suppress the urge to squeak once the rings in his optics widened to emphasize his sharp glare.

He scrutinized me for a brief moment, before he leaned away from and nodded curtly. "Then your brother was erroneous."

I resisted the urge to vent out in relief, instead I snorted—because erroneous made me think of erogenous, which, now that I think about it, was kind of disgusting.

The sound of something loud crashing onto the floor caught my attention, and I ripped my gaze from the silver mech to the two mechs that were _still_ brawling with one another. I stared with a mix of admiration and concern as the larger mech performed a banned WWE wrestling move, The Canadian Destroyer, while wondering why either one of them hadn't succumbed to their injuries already once the smaller mech got up with a pained grunt.

"So," the silver mech started out simply enough, taking back my attention as I flickered my gaze back to him. "Your designation is Galactica, correct?"

The name 'Galactica' sounded completely foreign to me, but the equally foreign object in my chest responded to it with a swell of attentiveness and curiosity. I shuttered my optics at the silver mech, giving me an incredulous look that he couldn't see, and glanced down at the object within my chest compartments. The thing was humming again, as if it was acknowledging the name 'Galactica,' and I swept my gaze back on the silver mech with furrowed optical ridges. "Galactica?" I questioned, unfamiliar yet familiar with it.

The silver mech nodded. "Yes. My companions told me that they had found you in a space pod, and the AI told them you're designations—but your spark designation had been unintelligible, and I hypothesize that it had been stated in your home planet's language. Luckily, your upgrade designation had been given in the Universal Cybertronian Language," he elaborated to me. "Unless," he paused, giving me another suspicious look. "That isn't your real designation?"

It isn't, was what I had wanted to say. Never, in my entire life, had I hoped or dreamt of changing my name into something else, because _Meg Malcolm_ was my name—something that my parents had given to me the very moment I had been born, along with their love and smiles. I had never been ashamed of my name, because it would always signify and remind me what I was and always will be to my mom and dad.

Meg had been derived from the name of my father's deceased sister, Margaret, to honor her memory. The word 'Margaret' had been derived from its Latin counterpart, Margarita, which in Greek meant pearl, and my parents had shorted the name to simple 'Meg.' I had been known as the pearl of my the Malcolm siblings, being the only girl born to two brothers whose names meant eternal conqueror and victory. As you can see, my mom had come from a traditional family who were suckers for names with meanings, and her name meant industrious, fertile, and defender—which is why she even took up medical school in the first place, to give actual meaning to her name.

Malcolm, obviously, was my family name, and dad had been proud to tell me its meaning (he had only recently researched about it after he found out what mom's parents were like.). He told me it meant disciple, chief, and prince—however, his favorite meaning for it was, a server to one. He said that he had found the name appropriate, since he was a server for his country whereas mom was a server to the people's health. He told me that one day, I would be a server too, but to what, I would decide.

However...he never did live long enough to see what I would serve...

I sighed—or, er, vented—miserably, pushing down _those_ depressing thoughts, knowing that now wasn't the time to wallow in my self-pity, what with having a giant metal robot interrogating the frag out of me. The foreign object in my chest sent me a wave of serenity and comfort, to which I gladly accepted and used to relax my tense frame. "No, it's not that," I softly told him. "It's just that, from where I came from, you die with the name, or designation, you were born with," or cursed, I mentally added, because I sure as hell knew that there were less fortunate people with horrible names.

Such as Arthur McArthur. I remembered a kid in my class who had that name—he always went home crying because Ryan would tease him like the little bastard he was, and hopefully would still be.

Move away dark thoughts, I mentally commanded. Move the fuck away from me, you little hobknockers.

"Really?" The silver mech seemed intrigued. "You don't change your designations, even after you've received your final upgrades?" He stared at me with wide, interested green optic with those freakishly weird optical rings increasing and decreasing in size.

I inched away from him, thoroughly resisting the urge to gouge his optics out with my killer heels. "It's not advised, per say," I said, multiple thoughts running through my processor as I tried to invent something with a mix of truths and little lies. "However, the female organics in my home planets usually change their last designations to what their spouse's last designation is," I told him.

"How many names do these organics native to Erk," I winced at the wrong pronunciation. "have?" The silver mech asked me, keeping the excitement in his voice to a minimum level.

"Only one; however, their designations are usually composed of two or more parts," I elaborated to him. "For example, I had an acquaintance of mine whose name was Courtney Anne Calloop."

The mech tilted his helm, furrowing his optical ridges into a deep burrow. "Korki Ann Kapoop?" He tried, and I nearly bursted out laughing at that INCREDIBLY mispronunciation.

"It's Courtney Anne Calloop," I repeated to him. The silver mech repeated the name as well, stumbling over it one but managing to make the name sound coherent enough for me to recognize it, and I nodded, pleased.

"Very interesting," the silver mech rumbled thoughtfully, his chest vibrating in accompaniment to the engine revving within.

I resisted the urge to smile at the mech's eagerness to learn more about my culture; however, not wasn't the time to be thinking about how exciting it was to exchange information about my culture with an alien being. The first goal that should have appeared in my mind was to get out of these accursed handcuffs—that, by the way, were starting to hurt very, _very_ much.

"Hey, um..." I trailed off unsurely, pausing for a moment. When the mech didn't speak up, much less _give his fragging name_ , I continued, "Could you—"

The sound of something slamming harshly against the ground penetrated into the room I had been held captive in, and I stilled in alarm once I had noticed that all of the Transformers in the room had frozen up as well—the silver one had snapped his helm to look at the door (which, by the way, I had never noticed until now) whereas the indigo one had paused in dragging the black mech as they too stared at the door with a combination of eeriness and resolution.

I moved my optics to look at the door, and I could feel the protective armor on my shoulders flare up in a show of wariness and intimidation for what was to come. I nearly jumped when I heard something slam against the door, followed by the sounds of someone yelling—however, I couldn't identify what was being said, with how muffled the words were—and the mechs with me merely inched a step back, their shoulders slumping down as they looked at one another with looks of...

Huh? Relief and exasperation?

Before I could dwell upon the confusing subject, I heard something slamming against the door once again, followed by the distinct sound of something sliding open. I yelped when I saw a blur of dark blue and silver come hurling towards me, and I flinched when I felt a hand wrap around my upper servo and drag me an inch away from where I used to be, which was now occupied by a mass of dark blue and silver metal, and I grunted in pain when I felt the handcuffs tying my wrists to the metal post resisted against the sudden pull.

"CRASHTHROUGH!" I heard someone holler, and watched as a figure walked through the doorway, and found myself entranced by the new Transformer's swaying hips that moved from side to side in a hypnotic manner.

And for a reason I knew nothing about, I felt the foreign object inside of me lurch forward, and I was forced to arch my back up as I distinctly felt the foreign object in my chest pulse strongly, which caused me to gasp at the immense waves of a variety of feelings— _happiness, surprise, excitement, nervousness, and desire_ —that surged throughout the entirety of my frame.

I felt my subdued energy field suddenly flare out in an intense wave, and I gasped again at the next onslaught of emotions that surged throughout my entire frame, drowning me in it, before my energy field suppressed itself into a tight lane as it shot towards the Transformer that was stiffly standing in the doorway. My field of energy tentatively brushed against the very edges of the new Transformer's energy field— _fear, anxiety, and hope_ building up inside of me, but for what reason did I have to find acceptance in someone I didn't know?—and I felt the foreign object in my chest relay a feeling of longingness and joy through my energy field.

At first, the unknown Transformer's energy field recoiled away from mine, and for some unknown reason, a spark of pain lit up in my chest—making me feel useless, unwanted, and disgusting; making me question myself, am I a bad person? Am I ugly? Am I not wanted? What was _wrong_ with me?

After a beat, I reviewed my thoughts again, and questioned myself again, what the hell was wrong with me? When I had been human, I hadn't given a single fuck about what other people thought of me—because if they didn't like me, so what? Were they the president of the United States? Were they somebody important to me? Were they _me?_ Of course not, so what right did they have to judge me, when they didn't even take the time to learn more about me and what kind of person I was in this demented humane society we all live in?

So, what was wrong with me? I shouldn't be feeling so self-conscious about someone rejecting me, because—

My thoughts came to a sudden halt when I felt something cautiously brush against my energy field, relaying a message of the same fear, anxiety and fear that I had felt—and, for a reason I had no knowledge about, the internal turmoil that raged on in my processors just... _disappeared_ , and I felt the pain and disgust for myself ooze out of me, making me feel calmer and rational, and much, _much_ , better.

I felt as if the world had been on my shoulders, digging into me to force myself to my knees and sending me jolts of the most excruciating pain (when I imagined the pain coursing throughout my entire frame, I saw a flash of orange, and was reminded of the pain that Primus had made me go through) to further drag me down; then, as if by some miracle, I felt someone place themselves underneath the world and _help_ me lift it up, _help_ me ease the pain; however, more importantly, just simply _helping_ me.

I felt like I wasn't _alone_ anymore, and I wanted to know why would I feel like this—when I had no mom, no dad, no brothers, no friends, no _anything_.

Almost timidly, I brushed my energy field against the unknown Transformer's, taking the reigns of control over my field of energy from the unknown object that thrummed and pulsed widely from within the compartments of my chest. I sent a burst of confusion and curiosity, with a silent question that said, _what are you?_

The other Transformer didn't answer to my question for a few seconds, allowing me to grow a little bolder as I slightly delved my energy field into theirs, going an inch deeper from the very edges of their field of energy. Then, after the few seconds of silence, I received an answer.

"Sister," A silvery voice spoke up, with a slightly deep undertone to it. I opened my optics that I never noticed that I had closed, and I looked up at the transformer that had spoken to me. I was immediately captivated by the shape of the frame that stood before me—a petite yet shapely metal body with shoulders that looked sturdy and strong, and slim servos with hands that looked delicate and nimble; a curvy, thin waist that thickly flared out into hips; legs that were thick at the very thighs that grew slimmer as they traveled downwards to pedes with heels that looked equally deadly yet much shorter than my own.

But it was the _faceplates_ that made realize that this wasn't just another mech that I was talking to—this was a _femme_ , because no mech would have long and thick optic lashes, nor would any sane mech have _dark red_ dermas, unless they were a queer or strongly gay.

And currently, this femme was stalking towards me, her hot pink stilettos clicking ominously against the metal floor. My optics trailed upwards to the femme's faceplates once her pedes stopped right beside my knees, my eyes slightly widening at the vicious red that glowed through the protective glass casing of her optics.

"Scooch over, Vit," the femme ordered, and the silver mech—Vit? Who the hell is named Vit these days, or like ever? That better be a nickname, or I swear I'd _really_ start questioning the naming skills of Transformers—gladly unclamped his hand from my upper servo and calmly stood up to walk away from us and towards the mass of dark blue and silver metal, that I only realized was a real live Transformer once it groaned aloud in pain.

I flickered my gaze from the dark blue painted mech beside me, ignoring how _familiar_ the mech looked, and focused my gaze on the femme that had kneeled before me.

"I'm..." The femme started off, looking hesitant as she stared at my concealed faceplates, and I jolted in surprise when the tips of her fingers ghosted over the very edges of my metal hand. The femme offlined her optics, and seemed to count to whatever number in her helm, before she vented out deeply and onlined her ruby red optics once again. "I'm your sister," she told me.

The look on my face was a comical combination of bewilderment, disbelief, and confusion—because female robot say what now? "Sister?" I said aloud, confused by the term itself. My parents never had another female spawn aside from me, and whereas I had two brothers, I was _their_ sister. But, if discounted blood-relation, then my only sister would be Ciara and vice-versa.

So who was this femme, who dared to even call herself my sister?

I could feel the femme's intense, cardinal-coloured stare; however, I suppressed the urge to flinch. "Domino, Venompoint," she said, looking at the two mechs that were now standing with straight spinal cords. " _Get out_ ," she snapped, pointing at the open doorway.

"EH?!" The indigo colored mech exclaimed, his blue optics widening. "But Ro-!" The small Cybertronian was interrupted when the much larger, and darker-colored mech easily picked him up and threw him over his right shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Shut the frag up, glitch-head," the large, black mech said as he strutted out of the room, my gaze never straying far from the pair of sheaths that clanged against the armor of his upper tibulen until he left the room. "This is a femme thing, so leave it to Rouge," was the last thing I heard from outside of the room.

"Vitallium, Crashthrough, you too," the femme said, her index finger still pointing at the door.

The silver mech—thank freaking Primus _Vit_ was just short for _Vitallium_ —gave the femme a dry look. "And how do you expect me to carry Crashthrough _out_?" He demanded, neon green optics staring incredulously at the femme.

"I don't know, and I don't care, as long as you get the frag _out_!" The femme snapped, her ruby red optics narrowing, and I could practically imagine a thermometer beside her head with the red line speeding upwards.

"I am your mentor, _apprentice medic,_ " Vitallium snapped back, his neon green optics narrowing in warning. "And I am _not_ someone you can just order around," he said, his engine revving viciously as he gave a growl.

The femme flinched back, and her sturdy shoulders slumped down as her gaze strayed towards the floor. "I-" She began, a look of clear panic crossing her features. "S-Sorry, sir," she mumbled out, a light pink shade coloring her cheeks. "I-I—" It seem like she didn't know what to say, because the femme fell into silence once she realized that her stammering wouldn't form any coherent words.

"You forgot," Vitallium said, looking calmer and much gentler than last time as understanding dawned over his features.

The femme nodded, embarrassment and humiliation clouding her entire features. "I...This is important to me, Vitallium...So _please_ , just give me this chance. I-I need to talk with her," the femme pleaded as she placed her hand over the back of mine; I didn't tense up, instead allowing this action because she looked so... _heartbroken_. "She's a _femme_ , Vit, and if what Crashthrough was telling me true, then she's a _newly-upgraded femme from an organic planet_ , and-"

Vitallium raised a single, metal hand, ceasing any words from coming out of the femme's voice module. "Fine," the silver mech said, venting out deeply. "Just let me grab Crashthrough, then I'll go," he finished, then reached down to the groaning mass of dark blue and silver metal, hooking his servos underneath the arm pits of the mech, then proceeded to drag him out of the room.

I watched as the silver mech punched something on the wall from outside, and shuttered my optics when a door came sliding out from the sides. I flinched when I heard it slam shut, and flinched again when I felt a warm frame lean against mine.

"Oh, those stupid, no-processor, spike-sucking, valve-fragging, _aftholes_ ," the femme hissed lowly underneath her breath, making me shutter my optics as my processor _literally_ absorbed every swear word she was saying. I one half of those—but spike-sucking? Vavle-fragging? Those were new ones, and I wanted to learn _all_ the Cybertronian curses there were now that I had the opportunity to. "I mean, who the frag handcuffs a femme to a slagging lamppost? _My_ slagging lamppost, nonetheless," she growled lowly. "I swear— _mechs_ these days, their worse than they were before the Great War started," I heard the engine in her chest give a low rev. "Now you just wait a minute, sweetspark, and I'll get you outta there in less than a klik," she said, and I flinched when I felt her brush against a wound that had been made from the handcuffs's tight hold.

When I heard the distinct sound of a click and I felt the restraints from hands being taken off, I swear that if I saw Primus, I would gladly bow down to him and apologize for every curse word I said. But, alas, he wasn't here, and I could gladly keep my dignity and pride.

"There we go," the femme said as she leaned backwards and took her original sitting position, but this time much closer to me. Hesitantly, I lowered my hands, and winced once I felt the painful strain in my servos from having been forcefully raised by the wrist joints for a long time. I glanced down, inspecting my throbbing wrist joints, and squinted my optics in disdain at what looked like tears on the metal platings of my dark purple-painted wrist guards that barely covered my entire wrists and half of the back of my hands. "Just a couple of nicks on your armor that your self-repair system could easily heal," she said aloud as her red optics (yes, I couldn't quite let go that she had _red_ optics.) scrutinized the wounds on my wrist joints.

"But, back to business, feels good to finally be out of those 'cuffs, right?" She asked me, her dark red dermas hiking up on one side as she gave me a devilish smirk.

Wordlessly, I nodded my head up and down, clueless on what I _could_ and _should_ say to her.

"I'm Rouge, by the way, and I'm a medic-in-training until I can fragging find a branding stylus to _finally_ carve the medical insignias into my armor," she said, her faceplates darkening, and I tentatively brushed my energy field against hers. To my surprise, her energy field immediately reacted, engulfing my own, much smaller energy field, and cocooning me in her warm and safe-feeling field of energy that pulsed and thrummed with delight, joy, relief and a tinge of bitter feelings that occasionally swirled here and there if I concentrated hard enough on our energy fields. "And, apparently, I _was_ the last femme in Kaon, hopefully not Cybertron, until _you_ came," she said, before she quickly added, "Which, by the way, is a _good_ thing. It was getting fragging tough in here without single femme to help me control these mechs," she said, raising her teal-plated servo to gesture towards the door.

And then, silence encompassed in the air over us, drowning us in its tense and awkward atmosphere. Judging by the expectant and impatient expression about to bloom on Rouge's faceplates, I guess that it was _my_ turn for introductions.

"I'm..." I started out, unsure what I should really call myself. Meg had, and still is, the name that my parents had given me—it could be last thing I had of them—and for me to give it up and to change it for another? It felt as if I was betraying the humanity that I _know_ is still inside of me.

So what now?

The energy field that wrapped around mine like a warm embrace a mother would give to their offspring gave a burst of comfort, and I guessed the internal turmoil happening within me seemed to have relayed itself through my energy field, which explained the concerned expression on the femme's faceplates. The foreign object in my chest thrummed with delight, longingness and so, _so_ much joy that it made something from inside of me flutter.

"Sometimes," the femme suddenly started. "Before the Great War happened, mechs and femmes that hailed from planets that Cybertron had colonized would come to Cybertron to start anew. Most of them would go to Iacon or Polyhex or Praxus, since back then, _those_ three city-states had been the pride of Cybertron—but now, Iacon's been remodeled into a base for the _Autobots_ ," she spat out, hatred gleaming on the surface of her faceplates. "Polyhex is now a ghost town, with barely a mech littering its once vibrant streets...And Praxus..." The femme offlined her optics, her faceplates contorting into a pained expression, and I could feel the sorrow and grief that her energy field pulsed with through mine. "Praxus was my home, you know?" She murmured as she onlined her optics. "It was the place where I had been sparked, and where I had grown up in, and thought it wasn't the place where I hold the best memories, it was _my home_ ," she whispered, her optics darkening into an almost brown shade. "And it was a beautiful home too—until the Decepticons bombed it and the Autobots destroyed it even more," she snarled, her optics brightening up until they were a vibrant shade of red that looked as if it could have been dark pink, and I flinched from the utter hate and killing intent that I felt through her energy field.

And then, after a beat of silence, the femme's shoulders slumped down, and the little armor on her shoulders and servos flared down until they returned back to their flat states. The femme breathed in a large amount of air into her intakes, keeping it in for a few seconds, before venting all of it out of her systems. "Basically, what I'm trying to say is, the moment you landed on Cybertron, you were given the chance to start a whole new different life," she said, looking tired and weary and wearing that same heartbroken expression on her faceplates that made the foreign object kn my chest throb with pain.

I stared at her—and briefly, I wondered if I too was wearing that same heartbroken expression on my face. My processors slowly worked, and after a klik—which _might_ be about a minute and more in Earth's time—I chose my decision.

* * *

 ** _Requesting to open Internal Logging...Requesting...Requesting...Request: granted._**

 ** _Opening Internal Logging; Accessing New File...New File: accessed._**

 ** _Opening New File... New File: opened; Opening New Unit File...New Unit File: opened._**

 ** _Access to Unit File Number 000: granted and awaiting further actions._**

On Earth, the third planet way from the sun with Venus and Mars as its neighbors, and publicly known as the only planet in the galaxy booming with life and energy, I was a simple human being. My name was Meg S. Malcolm, and I had two brothers whose names were Ericson S. Malcolm and Nicholas S. Malcolm. My loving father, Arthur C. Malcolm, had died a defender of my country when I was eleven years old, and my caring mother, Amelia S. Malcolm, was a professional medical doctor. I had lived a happy and calm life with two of my best friends, Ryan R. Quinns and Ciara J. Valdez, and my life-long obsession had been the Transformers franchise.

On Cybertron, a planet that had long been kicked off of its revolution and solar system, and publicly known as the planet that was origin of the _only_ known techno-sentient beings, I am now a Cybertronian with an all too rare frame kind. My designation—or cybertronian alias, whichever one you prefer—is Galactica, and I have no idea why I had been given this name. I have no family, no friends, no anything; the life long obsession I held for many years is now gone, only to be replaced by a cruel reality that I never wanted.

Venompoint, the first Cybertronian I had met, was a large and intimidating mech. His paintjob was primarily black with streaks of violet, and his thick armor was mainly composed of spikes that flared out threateningly whenever he wanted to scare somebody—which, by the way, was all the time. He a pair of sharp daggers that glowed a neon shade of purple at the blade when it was out of their sheaths. He was mean, cranky, and possessed the mouth that any sailor would be proud of.

Venompoint didn't trust me, which I could hardly care about since I was too busy untrusting him as well. He didn't like me either, with the way he bared his dentals at me whenever I walked by. We were hardly friends, nor friendly acquaintances, but more of two strangers that had to be within the other's territory.

Domino, Venompoint's partner, was a small mech with a bright and bubbly personality. His paintjob was primarily a dark shade of indigo with a few dark yellow highlights encompassing his servos, chest, legs, and pedes. Domino's helm was a work of art, and I couldn't stop staring at the double-plated black and indigo-striped chevron that adorned the very middle of his helm.

Domino didn't trust me, which I could hardly care about since I was too busy untrusting him as well. However, despite his mistrust and wariness of me, the mech that was the smallest out of all of us was _really_ trying to trust me. He kept sending me cheerful greetings and warm smiles, that I couldn't help but reluctantly return back despite the mask covering my faceplates. We were hardly friends, but I could safely say that we weren't enemies and that we were close and friendly acquaintances that could keep a conversation going for a few kliks.

Vitallium seemed to be the leader of this unruly gang I had luckily been accepted into, albeit with a large amount of wariness and Rouge's stubbornness for me to be accepted. He was a calm mech who liked to keep things in order, and he was also a full-pledged medic, but from which city-state he had graduated from, I didn't have a single clue. Vitallium's paintjob was a stark dark silver that nearly bordered on grey, with the occasional dark green giving life to his blandly colored chassis.

Vitallium most certainly didn't trust me, which I could hardly care about since I was too busy untrusting him as well. He may act polite to me, but I could always feel his energy field brushing against mine and his neon green optics flashing brightly at me as he scanned me for anything dangerous or out of order. He wasn't really trying to earn my trust nor was he trying to trust me; because apparently, he found learning more of me much more interesting. We weren't friends, nor enemies, nor strangers—we were acquaintances that wouldn't talk to one another unless Domino or Rouge was there.

Rouge was a medic as well, and seemed to be under the tutelage of Vitallium. To me, she was a rather pretty femme—with smooth faceplates, high cheekbones, sharp optic shapes, and her trademark colored dermas—with a chassis that had too many scratches, paint chips, and a pair of deep scars that ran along the middle of her back. Her paintjob was a pale shade of turquoise that made her seem soft and kind and patient and everything else that contradicted how she truly acted, with streaks of hot pink on her chest, servos, tibulens, and struts giving her a wild side. Her helm was much less artistic compared to Domino's, but she had a curved chevron on the top of her helm—a dark red one with the center module being a gleaming shade of silver and the black outline of a cross marring its surface.

Rouge trusted me, but only to an extent and also because I was a fellow femme or 'sister' as she liked to call it. I _kind of_ trusted her, because out of all the five Transformers I've met, she had been the greatest help to me. She was strict to everyone, including me, and she was kind of bossy as well, and she had a much _worse_ mouth compared to Venompoint—hers could even make _any_ sailor cover their face in shame. She taught me how to maintain my chassis with the limited cleaning resources we had, and I was grateful to her for it. We weren't exactly friends, but we certainly weren't strangers nor _just_ acquaintances. Really, I would rather much regard her as a close acquaintance. But I still didn't trust her, mind you.

Crashthrough...Now Crashthrough was the mech I talked to the least—in fact, I think I'd only shared one conversation with him, and that was only when he was introducing himself and vice versa. He was _big_ —and by big, I meant very tall and...muscly (?). Crashthrough was the tallest one in the group, and he was most certainly the one who had the bulkiest armor. His faceplates were a hilarious shade of red, and his ringless optics were a bright shade of gold that could illuminate any dark room. His paintjob was mainly composed of only three colors—dark blue, black, and silver, and all of which were dull shades that could have looked close to grey if it was any dimmer.

I didn't know what he thought of me, since I rarely saw nor talked to him. It was as if he was trying to ignore my very existence or hide from me, which by the way was hilarious considering that he was nearly four or five helms taller than me; however, I noticed that whenever I entered a room, he would be exiting it through an alternate route that was nearly opposite to my entrance. But I could safely say that I _didn't_ trust him, cross my heart and yada yada, and I can tell that he too didn't trust me, with the way the others were acting around me. And, whenever I _did_ see him, I felt as if I knew him from somewhere, but I could never really tell because he would be out of the room faster than I could curse.

And me? What did little ol' me look like? Well, I was certainly much taller than I had been before, standing at a height much taller than Domino and Rouge, but shorter than Venompoint, Vitallium, and Bulkhead. After looking at a broken slab of glass that hung miserably against a metal wall, I could safely say that my new metal body hardly looked any different from my humane one aside from the slightly bigger bust, wider hips, thicker thighs, and longer legs; the lack of organic skin, hair, nails, etc. And yes, I _have_ taken a look of my aft, and gladly ogled it because _damn_ was it twerkable.

I swear, if any of you needed an extreme makeover, just get yourselves killed by Primus and get yourself one new and improved metal body that, by the way, makes you have the body that any model would die for.

My paintjob was primarily a slightly dark shade of teal (and yes, to all Grimmjow fans, I _have_ taken on the mistakened color of his hair—which, by the way, is debatably light blue.) with streaks of dark purple. I grudgingly admitted that Primus _did_ know some fashion, because the platinum yellow stones marring my chassis were pretty. They weren't shiny like most gems were, but they did have an appealing gleam to them that made me much more satisfied wit the body that Primus cursed ( _blessed_ ) me with.

And my faceplates? Well, it's only been a day or two, judging by my internal chronometer, so frag if I know how to remove my mask. I tried removing it, but it wouldn't fragging _**budge**_ , and I already thought about removing it but received no notification on the digital face screen.

...Maybe Primus forgot to give me a face.

No. No, no, no, _no_. That was impossible, because I could feel my optics whenever I blinked, my nose wrinkling whenever I was staring at something in disgust or disdain, and my dermas whenever they twisted into a frown or a smile.

...I must be going crazy for even _thinking_ of not having a face (but the possibility was still there, because for all I knew Primus could have reformatted my senses into believing that I had a face when in truth I might not even have one.), but oh well, I could always worry about later on when I needed energon, which, I checked, were still at a slightly stable condition.

Anyways, it's getting late, and I should sleep—or, er, recharge soon...So...I guess this is good night, huh?

...

Mom, dad, Eric, Nico, Abyss, Ryan, Ciara...I know you can't hear this—but somehow, in some way, I really hope that one day you'll receive this and know, that every single second that I spend my new life, I'm always thinking of you guys. Of how are you there, in heaven or Earth. I'm not exactly the most religious person out there, but I hope that dad and Ryan and Ciara are up there instead of down there.

I...I miss you guys. And I love you all. No matter what happens, I'll never forget any of you or lose any hope that _one day_ , I'll see you guys again. I'll find a way to get back home, back to _my_ Earth, _my_ universe...

And if not...well...

Dad, Ray, Cece...please welcome me with loads of frozen mangoes.

 _ **Updating Unit File 000...Updating...Updating...Updating: complete.**_

 _ **Storing Unit File 000 into Memory Core behind Inner Firewall Z-46...Storing: complete.**_

 ** _Accessing Recharge Systems: granted._**

 ** _Recharge Systems: activating in 3...2...1_**

Blackness, and nothing but that.

* * *

 **Word Count:** _20,249_

 **Time of Finish:** _August 12, 2015 at 8:33 P.M._

* * *

 **Prizes of the Winners:**

 _So...Here we are again, guys._

 _AetheriusStorm: Welp, this is as fast as I can update with exams happening in two days, soooo~ CHEERS GIRL! Btw, about your name...can I use it? Pwetty please? I have one heck of a character for it, so pweeeaaase? *puppy dog eyes with sparkles floating everywhere*_

 _CYYYYYBBEEEEER! FLAMEINGSHADOW! WHERE THE FRAG ARE YOU GUYS?! I CAN'T FIND YOU GUYS, HUHU. Anyways, if you DO read this, please tell me what'cha want, kay? I need some shit to write, so, if you were to help me, just GIVE ME SOME FRAGGING IDEAS._

* * *

 **Winner(s) of this Chapter:**

 _Well, we currently have two winners now, mwahaha. Transformers HM, my deary who I just LOVE to give spark attacks mwahaha ;D And Yami-The Lord of Darkness, whose replies are short and sweet and just fun haha._

 _Oh, and btw guys, just recommending something as a prize. Remember, any KIND of scene can be written. Funny, dramatic, random, etc. You can even request the back stories of a couple of OC characters so that you all could understand their background better._

 _*acting sneaky* I told you nothing. *wink wink* ;)_

* * *

 **Question/Task of this Chapter:**

Guys, guys, guys. Question here, and it ain't dumb. It's KIND OF important, and I want to know what each of you think dammit.

What do you guys think of Transformer/Human ships?

For me, I like them, like, a lot. And, call me a xenophile but whatever at least I can accept things that are new, foreign, and fucking unique dammit. But, anyways, I like the human shippings: like Sam/Bumblebee, Miles/Barricade (I GOT HOOKED ON IT OKAY?! MILES NEED SOME LOVE TOO), some Megsy/Sam (i...am very weird, I know.) and etc. Oh, and some Mikaela and Bonecrusher (I READ A GOOD 'FIC OKAY?!) with a dash of Ironhide/Will and some Human!OC/Sunstreaker...

I know. I'm sick. I'm a sick, sick, _sick_ person—but you love me, right guys? *puppy dog eyes with pop up ears and tail*

And what about you? Are you as sick as me, or not? Do you prefer the normal human/human and Transformer/Transformer?


	6. Chapter 6

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairings** **:** _Optimus/Elita-One; Ironhide/Chromia; Jazz/Prowl; Sam/Mikaela (indefinite, maybe?) ... for now. Still deciding the rest, opinions and reviews are welcomed to broaden my options._

 **Author's Note:**

 _ **Replies to My LovelyReviewers**_ _ **:  
**_

 _ **9 Tailed Vixen:** OH MY PRIMUS! YOU KNOW KISS PLAYERS TOO?! Omg, high-five girl! Finally! I've been talking about it with my friends, but since most of them are completely clueless of the Transformers series, I can't find someone to relate to. Hahaha, i just LOVE the hilarious situations in Kiss players, ehehe. I like Marissa Faireborn ehehe, because she's hilarious in the kiss players, and then there's Atari Hitotonari who is, by far, my FAVORITE kiss player ehehe. It's a very dirty manga, but I absolutely love it haha. And I HAVE read Dathana de Gray, and I enjoyed it very much. I'm just very sad that socket hadn't been able to continue it...but the moment an author's inspiration goes 'poof' then it's just gone, siiigh. AND ANOTHER HIGH FIVE GIRL! YOU LOVE ALEXIS/STARSCREAM TOO?! Huhuhu, a fellow sympathizer huhu. I literally cried when I saw Starscream die and the necklace he gave Alexis crack and I was like NOOOOOO, WHYYYYYY?! Huhuhu, I'm feeling so sad right now, just by remembering them, huhu...And yaaaay, another Sarah Lennox fan too~ I don't like how they disregard the minor characters in the movies, but, errr, who would really be interested (aside from the TRUE fans HAHAHA.) in the life of a military man's wife? And I absolutely adore Mikaela/Barricade, but, rem, I haven't really gotten use to Mikaela/OP, but I'm really trying haha. So far, I'm comfortable with one shots, but full out stories are incredibly weird to me ahaha. And OF COURSE, you have to pair at least one of your OCs with at least one of the big bad Decepticon trio ehehe_— _I'll admit though, because although Soundwave is my absolutely dream mech, there's just this_ allure _that both Starscream and Megatron have ahaha. Starscream is a very attractive and intelligent mech (and I find smart people a total turn on, haha.) whereas Megatron just has this large atmosphere over him that either screams bloodlust or just plain utter lust depending on your point of view or, er, hotness level haha. AND RED ALERT! Have you seen him in the G1 comics? He's been and awesome and rad guy, y'know? So I'll be trying my best to add him_ — _because it's Red Alert and I like paranoid mechs ;). And RI/Cassetticons? That's a first! Erm, have you written anything about it? i haven't checked your profile yet, what with exams and all, ehehe, so could you send me a link oh darling of mine if you do have one...?  
 **SarielGrace:** WHAT?! Your computer went kaboom? What happened, fem? Are you alright? And yaaaay, ANOTHER Megatron/Sam shipper. I don't know what I really like about them, but I usually ship the enemies and good guys with one another because of how forbidden it is for the lovers, or just how plain cracky and unexpected it is ehehe. And yeaaaah, about that friend o mine, I just said sorry to her one day, and then the next she began to be all clingy to me. I didn't like it one bit, because does she think that after I've apologized for not confronting her, she gets to be all friendly friendly with me after all the shit she's said behind my back? Well, I don't want to have my 3rd year ending in chaos, so I just told her if it was okay if we had a break for a while, and that the closeness we had before would never come back again. BTW, GO TO A COMPUTER SHOP AND START TYPING DOWN GIRL. START. TYPING. DOWN. I WANNA KNO WHAT HAPPENS NEXT! DX  
 **HeartsGuardianSol:** Ola Amiga, how's life doing? And Primus, I just love your review ehehe. If I were to use a song to describe your review, it would be Same Love, because you're totally upholding mutual gender rights ehehehe. AND WHAT?! IDW MEGATRON AND FIRST AID?! Gurl, send me the link, I wanna take a good look of it then save it to my desktop ehehe ;).  
 **Fandom Jumping Expert:** Gurl, let us all be sick together ne? XD  
 **AyanoZonurai:** Ahahaha, thanks for the spark-warming speech, Ayano-chi ehehe. And, erm, though it may be sweet and all, but the friend I had just fought with isn't exactly the most patient nor quiet person...nor is she the smartest, ehehe ;) And, personally, that's too much of a conversation starter. To ask her if she would die for me? Well, I already know the answer and that's a definite no no ahaha :'( She told me, when we were still fighting, that she'd rather wished that I'd never been born. Well, I apologized to her and told her that I don't want to be enemies with her and that I just wanted to have a healthy third year_— _and then the next fragging day she went up to me, all clingy and bitchy like, and demanding that we go out to hang out. Look, I don't mind hanging out with friends, but to HANG OUT with someone who I'd just recently fought and is still bearing the hurtful wounds that she'd told me? I told her that I didn't want to, and that I needed a little break from our fight before things could go back to the way it had been before. But still~ Thanks for the advice Ayano-chi :) It was really helpful, I swear :)  
 **Princess Kassie:** Why hello there, new reader! ;) It's so nice to have someone new in the ranks, ahaha. And I'm glad that you enjoyed it :D Really, I do, because that's one of the best things a writer could ever hear of haha. And I'll be sure to excite you more with this little ol story of mine ;)  
 **TFSTARFIRE:** Hi! It's so nice to meet you! :) I've noticed that you've favorited my little ol story before, but I'm really ecstatic to know that you've reviewed now! :) And really? You think that this story is going on great and is quite funny? Awww, thanks. You may not be the first one to say that, but it still feels the same to me to hear of it from a reader ahaha. And gurl, I checked your profile (I stalk everyone's profiles XD) and I gotta admit...FIST BUMP SISTA! ANOTHER RODIMUS FAN! MWAHAHAHA. Though I love Soundwave more, Rodimus is one of my favorite characters ehehe. And I read that you were expecting another baby? CONGRATULATIONS SWEETSPARK! Well, I just want to ask how many children you have ahaha :) I'm a children's person, I guess, and I just want to ask if you have any idea what you're gonna name your new child? OH YEAH! Is it a boy or girl? Hahaha, you don't have to tell me, I'm just really curious about it, because this is the first time I've heard of someone announcing their pregnancy on this site, and I was really psyched and interested about it! Good thing I encountered you, ne? ;D Anyways! I hope you're doing fine with your illnesses, and that you'd have a safe delivery as well~ Will you be giving birth by next month...? Hopefully you complete the whole term, because I wouldn't want anything to happen to either you or your baby. Anyways, God bless, and congratulations ahaha~  
 **AetheriusStorm:** Really? REALLY REALLY?! I CAN USE YOUR NAME?! Yossssssh! I have the absolutely PERFECT character to use your name on, ahaha. I've been thinking about it, and I _absolutely _love the idea of your name with the the mech that I'll be using soon enough hehe. And I'm proud that you noticed how I wanted the Neutrals to depicted, ahaha. Well, for the next few chapters, there'd be a few Decepticon AND Autobot bashing ahaha, because NONE, and I really mean none, of the Neutrals are particularly_ fond _(if you can even call it that xD) of either faction, so of course there'll be a little bit of hatred here and there~ And Meg is kinda bitter about both factions, because she sees that it's their fault for why she's there, and she also has a deep hating for Primus ahaha.  
 **SunnySides:** Hi again, SS! :D It's nice to hear from you once again :)))) And yah, she's lucky that she hasn't seen her optics yet, but wait until THEN and we can all laugh our asses off at her reaction. And I assure you, she'd get back on Earth soon enough. In fact, I've already written a scene out for her and my 'dream team' haha, and I bet you'd start squealing off your ass when you see when she meets...WAH! I DON'T WANNA SPOIL YOU! W *currently blushing heavily*  
 **Transformers HM:** And WOAH, that's one long ass review. The longest I've seen, ehehe. You deserve a trophy haha~ But I guess I deserve the review for that aft long chapter that I wrote previously ehehe~ And of course you can win again, deary~ Every five chapters, you get to have a chance, and the every ten chapters, there'll be a super duper big prize that I'm planning for reader who's gotten the most points, ahaha~ And Ryan? Crashthrough? OMG HAHAHAHAHAHA I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU THINK CRASHTHROUGH'S RYAN HAHAHAHA. Okay, okay, I'll stop fufufu, but I was expecting that at least one of you would KNOW who Crashthrough is, ehehe~ He's my secret and surprise character ;) One that I'll bet you'd be very interested in, huhuhu. But, too bad you didn't pick his back story, eheh~ Because then it'd be a major spoiler to everyone here, ahaha. And I hope you liked the way I wrote Rouge's backstory! It's just part one, but that's all I could type up within ten thousand words ehehe, and I'm planning on writing it up in bits of pieces that ANYBODY can ask for a part 2 haha~ AND GOSH! YOU'VE READ COFFEE GIRL TOO?! Ne ne ne, are you an Avengers fangirl? Because I know that I'm an avid reader of that fanficiton section, and I especially love how they detail Tony Stark's inner feelings! And Vampires! Yeah, I know that would solve the 'aging' problem, but it sounds TOO cliche haha, what with all the Twilight jokes and bashing here haha~ And Nest Rules? I BELIEVE that I've read it, but I just can't remember it anymore...mind sending me a link? :3 And really? A warning at the bottom? Gehehehe, that's just hilarious.  
_

 **Just A Little Shout Out to One of my Readers:**

YAMI-THE LORD OF DARKNESS! WHERE THE FRAG ARE YOU?! *crying tears of sorrow and longing* I've been awaiting you review, wanting to know what you want as a prize *sniffle sniffle*

Ahaha, didn't expect that, didja? A shout out to you? ;) Well, it certainly isn't the shout out one would expect, but it definitely is a shout out. I'M SHOUTING FOR YOU RIGHT NOW!

Gosh, I'm so freaking corny, somebody just shoot me haha~

Anyways, come PM me deary and tell me what you want, ehehe!

(My gosh, just shoot me if you're mad for me making this such a big deal, ehehe~)

And then the next day...

Omg~ I found you, ya little glitchy! Mwahahaha. And don't worry, what you want will SURELY happen again ehehe~

* * *

 **Cybertron's Units of Time:**

Astrosecond: .498 Earth second  
Nano-klik: 1 Earth second (I don't normally use this though...)  
Klik: 1.2 Earth minutes  
Breem: 8.3 Earth minutes.  
Groon: 1 Earth hour  
Cycle: 1.25 Earth hours  
Joor: 8 Earth Hours  
Solar Cycle: 1 Earth day  
Orn: 13 Earth days  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar Cycle: 7.5 Earth months  
Meta-Cycle: 13 Earth months.  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

 _ **In Which Not All Is At It Seems**_

* * *

Life on Cybertron wasn't what I had originally depicted it to be when I had been much younger, but it was the _exact_ image of what I'd expected from what I'd heard from my companions since my landfall on this abandoned home planet with just a scarce amount of Cybertronians compared to the population that they had boasted about before. The first thing I had seen once I took a step outside of the unexpectedly large house that I had been cooped up in for a whole fragging day (or solar cycle, as Rouge would beratedly correct me for, but whatever, it wasn't as if she could read my mind.) was the mangled sight of a Cybertronian's corpse.

Initially, I had frozen up, a dark and cold feeling settling in the very depths of my gut as I processed the image of the deathly grey chassis of the dead Cybertronian. The corpse was just a couple of feet away, and I wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the fact that it was sitting up, its back against a pile of rubble, and its mutilated faceplates tipped upward to show its offlined optics and its dermas that had been pulled into an agonizing scream.

It was a truly terrifying sight, that it even made the foreign object in my chest pulse with fright and horror, and I wouldn't have snapped out of my stunned stupor if it wasn't for Rouge wrapping her hand around my upper servo, and gripping it with a firm hold.

"That," she started out, her voice sounding as if she had been talking about the weather, but there was a certain dark tint underneath her smooth and casual tone. I curiously flared out my energy field to brush against the very edges of hers, and flinched away when I felt the utter anger and hatred that swirled within her energy field. What scared me the most, however, was that it had been the very _tips_ of her energy field, and to feel _so much_ hate and anger from it made me terrified of the idea of what it would feel like if I had delved even deeper. "Had once been a slagging excuse of a mech," she stated, and from the very corners of my optics, I could see her red dermas press together into a tight and irritated line.

I shuttered my optics, and tried to find something much more pleasurable to see than the corpse of a Transformer. "What happened to him?" I quietly asked, afraid to even speak up, but putting on my big girl panties and manning up with my balls held proudly anyways.

The turquoise colored femme shifted on her heeled pedes, before she vented out roughly, her voice coming out in a hoarse manner. "He had been trespassing on our territory," she said, her voice growing colder. "And he had been intending on claiming our territory as his—and in the process of entering one of our storage sheds, Domino had found the slaghead," she continued, and I noticed that her grip on me had tightened up by just a little bit. "They fought, wrecking that storage shed in the process and making us lose a very large amount of our energon supply, and Domino nearly went into stasis lock from it," she murmured, her voice growing softer as her ruby red optics drooped down to look at the dirt covered ground.

"Stasis lock?" I asked her, somewhat familiar with that term.

"It's a very critical condition that our instinctual coding force our entire systems into when our lives are endangered from either losing too much energon or damaging our sparks to the point of the outer shell cracking," she elaborated with a monotone voice, repeating a lesson that I could guess that she had known for a very long time. "It's the last course of action any Transformer would take," she ended.

"But why?" I asked again, growing interested with our current conversation. _Anything_ seemed much better than talking about the dead Transformer.

" _Because_ ," her voice tightening as her dermas twisted into an impatient and agitated scowl. "Once a Transformer enters stasis lock, they'd basically be placed in a coma-like state where their systems would be running at their very lowest to conserve energy. And, if they stay too long in stasis lock, they could die from malnutrition and internal rusting," she explained. "However, since Cybertron isn't exactly _functional_ anymore," she said, greatly rolling her optics with an exasperated expression. "We don't have the sufficient equipment to bring a mech out of stasis lock anymore—and so, once you enter stasis lock, you're as good as dead by then," she sighed deeply, a stress line appearing on the metal skin of her faceplates.

"Oh..." I murmured, having not expected such a... _depressing_ explanation. "That sounds horrible," I commented, flickering my gaze downwards to stare at my white and teal colored pedes.

"That's because it fragging _is_ ," Rouge emphasized as she removed her hand from my servo, and wrapping her servos around her teal colored stomach. "And we nearly lost Domino from it. That _mech_ ," she said, hissing the word out and making it sound like it could have been the worst swear word ever. "Had fragging gotten a good hit, and had managed to pierce a main energon line near Domino's spark casing," she said, placing a hand on an area that was just on top of her chest plates and somewhere closer to her diaphragm, if Transformers had one. "Luckily, Venompoint had arrived just in time before the slagger could deal the final blow and, well, I guess you could say this is what happened to the slagger," she said, gesturing towards the corpse. "Because, even if it doesn't look like it, Venompoint cares a lot for Domino—and if I didn't know that they weren't spark mates, then I could have mistook them for being one," she said, her red dermas finally stretching into an amused smile, albeit a very little one that looked more like a smirk than a smile.

I shuttered my optics at her, the foreign object in my chest humming with curiosity and interest. To satiate the immense waves of curiosity that the foreign object in my chest was sending, I awkwardly asked, "Um...Are they...?" At Rouge's blank stare, I made several clumsy yet suggestive motions with my hands.

Rouge didn't even shutter at a few lewd ones. "They're not fragging each other," she bluntly answered, making me slightly squirm in embarrassment. "Domino's too innocent and clean to do such a thing, and Venompoint is too, well, he's too busy being a completely afthelm to Domino to even think of fragging him," she continued, and I could practically feel my cheeks slightly warm up in embarrassment at her bluntness. "But Domino _is_ interested in Venompoint, and I've even seen him flirt with Venompoint a couple of times to know that he isn't just playing around," she said. "But Venompoint? He's fragging clueless about his feelings, but I _have_ caught him staring at Domino a couple of times; plus, the mech would literally kill for Domino," she added, shrugging. "Since we have a fine example right here," she added, an amused smile making its way up to her dermas once again, but this time it was much bigger, as she wryly gestured to the mutilated corpse with barely any of its legs left.

I stared blankly at the mutilated corpse, a mixture of feelings welling up within me.

However, one stood out amongst the rest, which confused me the most.

Because, instead of disgust or pity, why was I feeling... _sadness_?

* * *

The shelter that I would be occupying for my time being in Cybertron was small, about the exact same size as the room I had first awoken to since my planetfall; just enough for a berth to fit whilst leaving a slightly large space of the room free and ready for decorating to suit my tastes, which I wouldn't be doing soon, what with having brought absolutely _nothing_ with me to Cybertron. (Since, hello, I'd been kidnapped by the almighty creator of the Transformers race himself.) However, for the time being, I'd leave it as it is—small, cold, quiet, and absolutely unfamiliar.

But there was certainly something that I couldn't just leave as it is. And it was that the room was _fragging dirty_. And by fragging dirty, I mean absolutely spiteful, with not a single inch of dust-free matter.

I stared down at the dirt covered ground from underneath the soles of my pedes, watching with intensity as _something_ crawled through the dust then settled down just a few feet away from where me and my escort stood. I stared at it for a moment, absolutely doing nothing, before my entire chassis released a rattling shudder as I stepped back.

"What..." I tried summoning the words out of my mouth, failing a couple of times before I remembered how to talk. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" I exclaimed, squeaking once I noticed the strange object with dust covering its entire frame shake a little and move an inch closer to me.

My escort, the _ever_ charming and suave Venompoint—please people, note the sarcasm—merely rolled his ruby red optics, looking both irritated and disgusted by my actions. He scoffed at me, "What? Never seen a zap-mouse before, _femme_?"

I waved off his intention to rile me up and find a way to kick my aft six ways to sunday, my optics widening through my mask as I stared up at the much larger mech with interest and curiosity, while still making sure that the _zap-mouse_ was far away from me. "A zap-mouse?" I repeated, wondering if this was their Cybertronian form of a motherfucking _pikachu_. "No, haven't heard of that one before, what's that?" I eagerly asked him, stepping on the upper portions of my pedes as my strut heels shifted to lock itself into a compartment from within the mechanisms of my pedes—something I had learned early one during one of my body tests, and apparently my heels would automatically hide itself into from wherever it was attached to once it senses an added pressure to the upper portion of my pedes with the instinctual command from the back of my processors that it would be helpful for my equilibrium sensors

The black mech stared down at me with an expression that was clearly asking me if I'm was an idiot or something. Resisting the urge to stomp down on his pede, _hard_ and _painfully_ , I slumped back down, my strut heels popping out to support my balance once again, and I vented out roughly. "Not from Cybertron, remember?" I reminded him, sarcastically waving my hand at him.

Venompoint merely scowled darkly at me, one of his hands going to his tibulen where he kept his energon daggers on either side from within a secret compartment that I guess only he could open. "It's basically like a fragging glitch mouse," he gruffly answered. "But only that it's less dangerous and more _z_ _appy_ ," he finished.

I stared blankly at him. "And a glitch mouse is...?" I hesitantly asked.

The mech lifted a single optical ridge at me, scrutinizing my masked faceplates with a disdainful frown. "Did this Erk-" I winced at his mispronunciation, but allowed it to pass by since I knew that it would be better for me if they never knew the true pronunciation of my home planet that I was freaking set on returning to. "-of yours have _any_ kind of wildlife? Aside from the fleshbags you _apparently_ coexist with, I mean," he said, not truly believing that I had _really_ come from a planet I had lied about. Well, if you discount the fact that I was a gigantic alien robot that was nearly four or five times larger than the average human male, then I guess you could say that me and the made-up gigantic alien robot family I had recreated coexisted peacefully with the flesh bags that we could have even been mistakened as one, ahaha.

In reply to his question, I lifted both of my optical ridges to scrutinize him back. "Erm, yeah. But they were all organic," I paused, wondering if whether or not I should continue. "...And squishy," I added, because you gotta admit, compared to a Transformer, we were like _rubber bands_.

Venompoint vented out deeply at my lack of knowledge that, I could guess, even a sparkling would know about once they'd online for the very first time. "They're stupid little cretins that can't do anything else but _chew_ ," he growled, and I could tell that he was relieving some unfortunate memories. "They're fragging harmless to anybody, but once they get inside your frame, you're as good as slagging dead." And then, before I knew it, he began ranting. "They're fragging nuisances that nobody knows why _Primus_ created them in the first place. They have this _stupid_ habit of chewing on anything that slagging looks remotely like anything wires or metal—and they won't stop until they get through your helm, and start chewing out your processors," he said, pointing at his helm. "Because _everybody_ knows that those little slagheaps love the helm the most," he paused. "So if you ever see one, don't hesitate to kill it, before it kills _you_ ," he added, pointing at me this time.

I shuttered my optics at the sharp claw pointed at me, resisting against the urge to step back, because _man_ was that claw sharp. Did he use a nail file everyday just so that it could get that sharp? "I'll be sure to remember that," I replied, bobbing my head up and down in complaisant agreement. "So...is the zap-mouse dangerous?" I asked him again.

Venompoint merely vented out deeply again, this time bringing up a clawed hand to gently pinch his nasal ridge, and I boggled in wonderment over _how_ he hadn't pierced his faceplates yet. "They're not dangerous, femme. As long as you don't scare them," he immediately added the last part, narrowing his red optics at me to give me a warning glare. "So try to _not_ get fragging zapped by one—Rouge has more things to tend to than a paralyzed _femme_ ," he sneered at me.

The armor protecting my shoulders immediately flared out once the words had completely left his voice box, and I could practically feel my dermas unwillingly stretch into a malicious snarl. The foreign object within my chassis merely sent me a wave of soothingness and tranquility, trying its very best to calm me down, and it did—but only to a certain extent.

I refrained myself my hooking my fingers into the seams of his armor and haughtily tugging him down until he was much more smaller than me so that I could give him a fragging piece of my mind—because _he_ was looking _down_ on _**me**_. I wasn't some weak femme that couldn't even take care of herself! I was seventeen years old, dammit, even if that might be the average age of a sparkling. I could handle myself! And who does he think he is to belittle me so? So what, just because you're taller than me that means you can just push me around?

F-R-A-G Y-O-U, buster, but I ain't one who's used to being pushed around—because _I_ was the one who did the pushing around when I'd been human.

"My designation's _not_ femme," I growled back, my chest compartment vibrating slightly. "It's Galactica, _mech_ ," I snapped at him, pointing the very tip of my index finger at him in an accusing way. "And you better remember it," I barked, venom dripping from my words.

The large, black and violet painted mech merely stared blankly at me, and a brief silence encompassed the atmosphere above us for a moment. And then, like lightning had just flashed crashed through the roof (I shuddered, remembering the orange electricity that curled around me, _hurting_ me, _hurting_ my friends, and pulling me away from a life that I'd been _content_ with.), Venompoint threw his helm back and released a series of loud guffaws that sounded more like barks to me.

I watched as he literally drowned the once silent room with the sound of his laughter and demonic cackles, confused over why would he be laughing for all of a sudden.

Had he been inhaling some nitrous oxide as of lately?

"Primus," the large mech gasped, loudly sniggering for a moment. "Are you being fragging serious with me here?" He said, snickering in between his words. " _You_ threatening _me_?" He said, jabbing a finger in my direction first right before he pointed to himself. "HAH! As _if_ , femme! You wouldn't even be able to put a single scratch on me even if I stood still!" He jeered at me.

I felt the foreign object within my chest jerk back from his harsh words as I clenched my metal hands into tight balls of fists that trembled with the rage and humiliation that surged throughout my entire frame. My fingers barely did any harm to my palms as it did when I had been human—because since there was no nails, and the very tips of fingers were blunted, how could I pierce through the skin of palm? Not to mention that my palm was made out of rubber paddings as well...—but I could still feel the very tips of fingers press harshly against my palms.

And, much to my surprise, instead of feeling tranquility or soothingness from the foreign object in my chest, I felt an overwhelming anger burn within me. I could feel the energon running through my tube-like veins boil like sizzling lava from within the fiery hell of a volcano, could feel my entire chassis heat up as I felt _something_ whirl within the complicated circuitry of my servos and tibulens, and the way my dentals practically grounded against one another.

I couldn't understand the sudden anger that welled up within me—however, even though I knew that it wasn't exactly _my_ anger, I felt as if, in a way, it was still _my_ anger. I know. Complicated stuff, right?—but I definitely knew that the foreign object within my chest agreed with my non too pleasant thoughts.

 _Like hell I'd allow this bastard to call me weak_.

I may not be human anymore, nor did I go by the name Meg C. Malcolm anymore, but I was _still_ the same person. It had only been five days since I'd woken up to a whole new body with a completely different life awaiting me, so how could anybody expect me to suddenly change into a completely different person? I was still the me that I had been back before I came to Cybertron, with only a few quirks that were _slightly_ altered—like, ahem ahem, _loathing_ Primus's guts and hating the two factions now instead of sympathizing with either ones.

And if there was something that had remained with me since I'd been a child, it was that I most _definitely_ hated it when someone was looking down at me and was degrading my skills _just_ because I was a girl. I could remember each and every experience I had with people who'd looked down at me, insulted me for being weak just because I was a girl, and that it wasn't _normal_ for a girl to be as strong as a guy.

It hadn't been my fault that I'd been born with boobs and a baby producing machine—in fact, I wouldn't mind if I'd suddenly been changed into a boy, because _then_ other people would just **stop** looking at me as if I was some kind of freak that didn't belong anywhere. Boys would stay away from me, because who would like to hang out with a girl who could frequently make you cry and whoop your ass a hundred different ways? (Okay, I _might_ be exaggerating with the 'a hundred different ways' but I could _still_ your whoop your sorry ass in many different ways.) And girls during my days would usually stick away from me, because who would like to be with the weirdo of the class who preferred giant alien robots instead of barbie dolls or bratz?

I know. I had a horrible childhood in terms of interacting with peers of my age—but that was why I had Ciara and Ryan with me in the first place. We were the odd ones in our entire class, the one who didn't fit in, the one who other people talked about behind our backs and criticized for every single little thing that they could deem as wrong.

Human beings were cruel beings, especially when they were at their earlier stages of life, because then they didn't know how to control their words and feelings were just a fickle of their imagination that they commonly played around with until they were satisfied with the tear tracks that they'd left on your face.

The three of us—Ryan, Ciara, and I—were the social outcasts of our school, up until now. When we were much younger, we'd be the 'little people' that the other kids would jeer and mock at until we came home crying. However, if there was one thing I had learned through real life experience enough, it was that those that had been bullied had a much better chance of _becoming **the bully**_ in the future.

And that was what we'd exactly become—but who could blame us, really? We were just _kids_ , we didn't know how to fix our problems, and did you really expect us to fight back _peacefully_? We were children of military men, men that had been hardened from the hardships that the American army had instilled into the very core and instincts of their human body, and we had been _raised_ to fight, eventually.

I had been the first one to fight back— _because I was just tired already. I didn't want to come home crying anymore, from those mean girls who broke my Transformers toys, from those mean boys who pulled on my hair and laughed at me, and from those stupid teachers that turned a blind eye on everything. I was tired of seeing Ryan cry like a pansy, of being pushed around to the ground, of his things being broken by them; I was tired of seeing Ciara cry over how the bullies had pulled on her beloved pigtails, made fun of her incredibly curly hair, and laughed at her nervous stuttering_ —and when I did, it wasn't all that pretty. Because when the first girl who had planned on breaking my mini Megatron figure (that had been my absolutely favorite toy back then.) I had _cracked_ , and threw everything I had within my reach at her, screaming like a banshee at her, then tackling her to the ground and telling her all those mean things that she'd told me.

Suffice to say, I'd been pulled away by the teacher for inflicting physical harm on another student— _so what? It was okay for another to physically harm me and my friends? What are you? Stupid?_ —and had been placed on a time out that lasted the whole snack time. When my mom had picked me up from the school, she had been outraged that her six year old daughter had done such a thing, but I had only grinned back at her and told her that I did what dad had told me.

Oh, the fit she threw when she had talked about it with dad. She had banned him to the couch for an entire _month_ , and he wouldn't stop whining about it the whole time, saying that it wasn't fair for him to sleep on the couch for the whole duration of his leave from work.

The mean little girl's parents had sued us, of course, but mom had a friend who had drilled all of the details out of me and used those details against the stupid girl's parents. In the end, our roles had been changed, and the suer had become the sued. The mean little girl—Patricia or some shit—had been charged for several offenses, but since she'd been a minor, her offenses had been deduced and she didn't need to pay her time in prison. Instead, the mean little girl had to transfer schools to a whole new different town, and that had been the last I'd seen of her.

Mom's friends were scary people, but they were scary people that we could earnestly depend on without having to repay them back.

The next one who'd fought back had been Ryan—we had been eight years old back then, and in the middle of our third grade—followed by Ciara who had cracked when we were twelve years old, nearly a year before our dads had died and we'd been left with emotional scars on our hearts. However, I believe that this is a story for another time, because I don't think that _now_ was the time to go further down memory lane, especially with how _murderous_ I was feeling with the large mech standing in front of me, _mocking_ me.

"I bet I can leave _more_ than just a silly little scratch on you," I growled, the engine in my chest giving a loud rev to back up my words. "Hell, I bet I can even flip you onto your _back_ ," I hissed, unclenching my fists so that I could discretely strangle the air from behind my back. Oh how I wish I could strangle the life out of Venompoint!

However, the glitch-head didn't stop laughing; to my absolute irritation, Venompoint had only laughed even _harder_ than before, which was _really_ starting to grate even deeper into my nerves. The foreign object within my chest pulsed strongly, giving me a burst of anger and irritation at being _ridiculed_ by someone like him.

I snarled loudly at him, bringing my hands to the front and positioning my fingers until they resembled blunt claws. "You!" I growled, about _this_ close to burying my fingers into his mouth and down his throat so that I could give him a punch in the stomach— _literally_. "Stop laughing at me!" I snarled, feeling an energon line within my helm snap, and I immediately surged forward to silence his laughter.

I moved forward, my steps light yet full of determination and aggressiveness, and I immediately leaped into the air to tackle him; however, before I could so much as land a single finger on him, Venompoint had already moved faster than my new and improved optical vision could follow. My optics widened in surprise as I realized that my prey had suddenly disappeared, then the next thing I knew I felt an overwhelming pain hit the very top of my helm and back and I was suddenly slamming into the ground, faceguard first.

I gasped in shock and from the agonizing pain that coursed throughout my body, feeling as if several different bones—or, er, metal parts or joints, etc—had suddenly collapsed from the excruciating pain that had slammed down onto me. Before I could roll over and identify the inflictor of my pain, I felt a heavy weight land on the very top of my back, and I gave a strangled gasp as I felt my abdominal section being squeezed tightly from between the floor and the heavy weight. The extra appendages on my back flared with an excruciating pain that made me scream, and out of pure instinct to get this barbarian off my back, I began kicking my legs back, trying my best to catch my attacker from behind, but it had only seemed as if my pedes were hitting against something solid and clearly immovable.

"Keh," I heard a deep voice from above scoff. "You call that a _kick_?" The voice questioned me, and I immediately recognized it as Venompoint. "Pathetic! Even a mechling could kick harder than you, femme," I could clearly hear the sneer that was painting his dermas, and I growled at his jeering words. I felt a thick servo wrap around my shoulder blades, and I flinched when I was forced to lift my upper body when the servo around me persisted in pulling me upwards. I groaned in pain at the miserable and clearly painful position I had been placed in, and I would have dropped my helm if I hadn't felt a mysteriously cold object being placed on my neck.

My optics flickered downward to catch the marvelous view of what was being held at my throat, and I resisted the urge to swallow nervously when I caught sight of a silver blade with neon purple liquid flowing hypnotically from its fuller to the very tip, knowing that if I had so much as gotten a _nick_ from it, I would immediately be poisoned (or virused, depending on my current specie.) and I knew that I wasn't ready to die just yet.

"Look here, femme," I heard Venompoint growl down at me, and I flickered my gaze from the blade to his faceplates which was was leaned forward so that he could glare down at me with his cold, red optics without the need of snapping my neck joint. "You're a hundred decadevorns too early to even fragging _think_ of challenging me," he snapped. "I'm a master of Pit Fighting and Metallikato, so the moment you rushed towards without a weapon, it was instantly your lost," he said. "You see this blade of mine?" He told me, pressing the sharp edge of his dagger closer to my neck but not hard enough to create a scratch. "It's laced with a virus that can kill you in the matter of a klik, and sad to say, the antidote isn't with me right now," he told me, and I resisted the urge to squirm in his tight hold. "So do you know what would happen to you if I just... _slice_?" He said, his dermas stretching into a dark and menacing grin. "I'll tell you what—dead. Lifeless. _Offline_ is what you would be right now," he said, before pulling his dagger away from my neck and releasing his hold around my shoulder blades.

Almost instantly, my upper body slammed into the cold and dust covered floor, wrenching a cry of panic from my voice box that immediately transformed into a groan of pain when my faceguard slammed into the floor _again_. I gasped out in relief when I felt Venompoint's hulking weight remove itself from my back, allowing the extra appendages on my back to tremble in relief when the pain on being pinned down had finally disappeared. I pushed my arms against the floor to push my upper body, the gears and joints within my chassis creaking and groaning in pain, which didn't help the overwhelming shame that washed over my entire frame once I'd realized that I'd been so easily _dealt with_.

It was embarrassing. Mortifying. Downright **_humiliating_** , and I could practically feel my faceplates heat up from the energon that surged towards my helm.

Just as I'd manage to life my torso from the cold and dirty ground, a dark pede appeared in my line of vision and I ignored the urge to look up, too ashamed and bitter with my easy defeat.

"Next time you challenge me, femme," Venompoint snapped. "Don't fragging run towards me. In fact, that's rule number, don't go charging head on in a battle with a Pit fighter, or else you'll lose that processor-less helm of yours," he told me, thumping a finger against the back of my helm.

I kept my helm down the entire time, listening to the sounds of his footsteps moving away from me and leaving the room until all I could hear was the strangling silence that hovered over me, embracing me with icy cold arms that made the burning fire of shame and humiliation blaze brightly from within me.

After allowing myself to wallow in my puddle of self-pity, I forced myself to sit up. Looking down at my dust covered servos and torso, I pursed my dermas and began clenching and unclenching my metal hands, feeling the way my fingers softly brush against the sturdy paddings of my palms.

I...Was I weak? Venompoint's display of superiority over my strength had enlightened me in a way—and though I was incredibly bitter and angry over my easy loss, I knew that I had practically been expecting it. Dad had told me to run away when I'd seen an opponent I knew I could fight, and to also stand my ground and fight when there was absolutely no room to fight in; however, dad had also taught me that not all opponents looked strong and buff, because even the frailest and timid looking ones could pack one hell of a punch.

Like me, he had laughed before.

And what was humiliating enough was that Venompoint didn't even _look_ weak, and I had instantly been baited by his cruel words to deliver the first blow. I had been taught by my mom to _never_ deliver the first physical strike, and instead to wait for the opponent to be the one to deliver the first punch; most of the time, I would listen to her, but there were those times where sometimes the opponent had just _said too much_ , and I had been the first one to land the first punch.

And right now, I was mulling over my precarious actions.

 _Squeak!_

Something loud had interrupted my thoughts, and I glanced down to the source of the noise. My optics immediately clashed with tiny, green ones that resembled beads, and my entire chassis froze when I instantly connected the beady green optics to a tiny form with a long, spindy tail that was disgustingly thick at the base with a few metal ridges on it.

It...

 _Squeak!_

Was a rat. Well, more like a machine shaped into a rat, but it was the still the same thing!

 _Squeak!_

And right now, that same techno-like rat was scurrying towards me.

"KYA!" I emitted, immediately myself to my pedes once I'd seen the rat come _this_ close to me. I scrambled backwards, eyeing the rat with glowing green optics, and squeaked in fear and surprise when the rat's teeth began emitting sharp sparks of electricity.

Oh _hell_ no. What kind of pit-slagged planet was Cybertron to have rats that could electrocute you?

* * *

As I ran out of my residence as if hell was hot on my heels, I had bumped into someone. My faceguard had crashed into a large and bulky chest, which made me wince because this had been the _third_ fragging time my faceguard had been damaged—making me wonder why the hell it hadn't cracked yet—and I stumbled back in both surprise and pain. However, before I could fall to the floor, something large and thick had wrapped itself around my waist and prevented my aft from meeting the ground.

"Woah there, are you okay?" I heard a deep voice from above ask me, and I flickered my gaze upwards to look at the tall mech that had caught me. I shuttered my optics once my entire field of vision had been invaded by the image of a Cybertronian with a red faceplate and brilliant golden optics, having not expected to meet this Transformer again for the second time after the many times he'd been trying to avoid me.

"Um..." I started nervously, averting my gaze somewhere else as I stumbled over my words. "Yeah. I'm great. Peachy, in fact," I finally answered, my dermas lifting up into a smile that I knew he couldn't really see.

"Peachy?" Crashthrough—I think his designation was—questioned me with a furrow of his silver optical ridges that gleamed dully. "What does that mean?" He asked me with a frown on his slightly thick dermas.

"Err, it means that I'm fine," I replied, internally berating myself for using a term that the Transformers weren't familiar with again. "And," I started once again, looking at the way I pressed against his much larger chassis, my faceplates flushing in embarrassment as I resisted the urge to open my cooling fans to cool down my slowly heating chassis. "Thanks for catching me, but could you let me go now?" I asked him with a press of my hands against his large chest compartment. It was incredibly uncomfortable for me to be in this position with a male who I had never grown close to—only dad, my brothers, and Ryan had the privilege of holding me like this. The rest? They all had to follow the 'No Touching Me' rule.

Crasthrough stuttered his optics at me, having not understood what I'd said for a moment, before realization dawned on his faceplates "Oh, right. Sorry," he hurriedly said as he immediately let go of me. I regained my balance on my ( _accursed!_ ) struts, then looked up at his faceplates which seemed to have gone a shade darker.

An uncomfortable awkward silence fell upon the air that hovered us, and I instinctively began twiddling my fingers with one another from my back. An internal storm began constructing itself in my helm, and I pursed my dermas, deciding that I had to swallow my nervousness and pride down to erase the awkward silence that hung over us. However, just as I mustered enough courage to speak up, the large, dark blue painted mech spoke up first, making me deflate in both embarrassment and defeat—because _hey!_ I was just about to talk.

But, whatever. First come, first serve after all.

"So, Galactica right?" He queried, and I bobbed my helm. "Do you still remember my designation?" He asked me again, giving me a smile that was both sheepish and embarrassed that greatly emphasized his cheekbones and made his golden optics squint a little to accommodate his tense smile.

My gosh, forced smile or not, it made his cheekbones look so kawaii that I had to resist the urge to go up to him and squeeze his cheeks like I was some demented old lady.

"You're Crashthrough," I answered, before an idea came to mind and I nervously added in what I hope was a cheeky voice. "The big and bulky one," I said, even though I really wanted to say, _the fat one_.

Crashthrough shuttered his golden optics at me; much to my pleasant surprise and relief, the large, dark blue painted mech released a bark of laughter that was so unlike Venompoint's. Because unlike Venompoint's laughter, Crashthrough's laugh was warm and filled with amusement instead of cruel and mocking humor.

The foreign object within my chest pulsated with delight, singing pleasant words to me that made a small smile appear on my derma plates. _I like his laugh_ , the foreign object within my chest sang with a pleased hum. _It's just like his laugh_ , it melodically sang again. _But where is the other one?_ It had asked me with a burst of confusion and sadness.

I shuttered my optics, having not understood what the foreign object was trying to relay to me. _'Other...one? And whose laugh are you talking about?'_ I thought with a furrow of my optical ridges.

As if having read my thoughts, the foreign object within my chest merely answered with an even more confusing, _You should know._

 _'Know? Know_ what _? I don't even know what you're talking about!'_ Was what I had returned, to which the foreign object within my chest answered with a burst of agitation for my cluelessness over what I should know—but that was it, I _didn't_ know what I should know, which was why I was asking it. _'Tell me, whose laughter should I know? And what other one are you talking about? You need to tell me, so that I'd understand,'_ I insisted.

The foreign object within my chest merely ignored me, continuing in its pursuit to pulsate with warmth, sadness, and an additional irritation that made the armor on my shoulder flare out a little bit from the treatment that I was now getting from it. However, before I could express my irritation and stomp off to some far away place without a shred of civilization (which, sad to say, was quite easy to find now, what with how war-throttled Cybertron looked like right now.) just so that I could cool off the steam in my helm, a hand reached out so that it could clamp itself on my shoulder, effectively jolting me back to reality.

I flickered my gaze upward, and I was immediately rewarded with the image of Crashthrough grinning down at me with a wicked gleam in his optics.

"Heh," he said, sniggering once. "I thought for sure that you'd be another VP," he said, his dermas widening into a much larger grin that exposed his straight dentals with a pair of canines on both his upper and lower dentals. "It's nice to know you have some good humor in that frame of yours," he said, patting my shoulder, which made me release a puff of breath as I felt a sudden force pushing me forward. "Oops, my bad," Crashthrough said, rubbing the back of his helm as he helped me regain my balance by holding my upper servo. "Sometimes I forget my strength—but I'll try to remember next time," he continued, laughing cheekily, which made me vent out slightly with a smile.

"It's fine," I said, pushing his hand off of my shoulder; all the while chanting in my head to not swat his hand off of my shoulder. I _really_ didn't like to be touched, unless it involved fighting or if it involved one of the few people that I trusted. "By the way..." I hesitantly started, not knowing how to use my words without making it sound offensive. "What made you think that I'd be like Venompoint?" I asked him, curious enough. Aside from his trashy personality, I could clearly identify Venompoint as an attractive mech, and that scowl of his only added to his cool and intimidating persona that made him even more attractive.

"Well..." Crashthrough started, looking incredibly uncomfortable with my question as his optics strayed to the side just so that he could avoid my unseen gaze. "It's because of your paintjob," he finally answered, his large hands gesturing to my frame, making me shutter my optics.

"My paintjob?" I questioned with a furrow of my optical ridges, looking down at myself to inspect my colors. Teal and purple weren't really the best colors to pair off together, yet it wasn't really an ugly combination—in fact, I was kind of fond of it, since most of my T-shirts were purple (well, since most of them had the Decepticon symbol, huehuehue.) while the rest were a variety of colors—but more of a weird combination that you'd rarely see walking in the streets.

But, well, considering what models wore on runways these days, I guess you can call weird the latest fashion trend.

"Why?" I queried, completely bemused.

"It's...so dull," Crashthrough admitted, rubbing the back of his helm.

"Huh? Dull?" I asked, once again looking down to inspect my chassis. My entire chassis still gleamed brightly; after all, I had only received this new body five days ago; so what part of me could be dull with such a shiny frame?

"Ugh, yeah," Crashthrough cut through my thoughts, bobbing his helm up and down. "Your paintjob's so dull—I mean, all the colors are just, well, _dark_ ," he then continued. "All the femmes I've seen so far have bright and optic-catching colors—but you, your paintjob's just so...dull and dark," he answered. "I mean, the only optic-catching about you are those yellow rocks of yours," he said, tapping his chest where my large yellow gemstone would be if it was on his chassis.

"Bright? Optic-catching?" I questioned with a tilt of my helm.

Crashthrough nodded, his faceplates forming into a thoughtful expression as he placed his hand underneath his chin in a thinking gesture. "Yeah. Bright and optic-catching," he confirmed. "I mean, look at Rouge. Everything about her is pretty remarkable—which is why she isn't allowed to go out, unless she's accompanied by one of us," he quickly added. "Her paintjob's pretty bright, and have you seen her dermas? That kind of shade isn't common to see on femmes, and she says she's been sparked with it, which I doubt, since crimson dermas are pretty rare," he finished with a frown.

"So...femmes are supposed to be brightly colored?" I asked, feeling a mixture of bemusement and understanding swirl within my tanks. Crashthrough was right in a way. Femmes were supposed to be brightly colored, as most as I've seen them as, and the only one I'd seen having colors as dark as mine was Slipstream, and she practically had the same paintjob as me as long as you exchange her colors and add some yellow stones, then wala! Another me, in seeker form.

"Well, they usually are," Crashthrough said. "But I've never met a 100% war-built femme, so you must be an exception," he quickly added, glancing warily at me with golden optics, as if he was expecting me to suddenly pounce on him and give him a beating of his lifetime.

I shrugged. "Nah, it's fine. I like being the weird one," I replied, my dermas forming into a small smile as I watched the worry seep out of Crashthrough red faceplates.

"Oh good," he vented out. "I thought for sure that you'd attack me like Rouge does whenever I say something that she doesn't like," he explained, before his faceplates seemed to have gone a shade lighter. "Don't tell her that, though. You heard nothing," he instructed to me with a hushed voice, his gaze flickering from side to side in a wary motion.

I shuttered my optics at him in surprise, before I recomposed myself and nodded my helm. "Sure," I easily agreed, even though in my head I was thinking, _Unless you do something that_ I _don't like, that is._ "My dermas are sealed," I jokingly added, sliding my pinched fingers over where my dermas would be.

Crashthrough grinned widely at me; however, before he could get a word in once his mouth had parted, his actions had immediately stilled and his optics dimmed a bit before they brightened up once again. His pinched dermas twitched downwards into a frown as his optical ridges furrowed into a miserable expression. "I forgot," he bemoaned, looking for all the world like he'd just had the worse day ever. "Now Rouge's gonna have my aft!" He exclaimed, hiding his faceplates wthin his cupped hands.

I shuttered my optics, tilting my helm to the side to display my confusion. "But why? What did you forget?"

"Why I even came looking for you in the first place," he groaned, rubbing his helm with a pained expression.

"…You were looking for me?" I asked, furrowing my optical ridges to support my narrowed optics. I could feel my energy field flaring slightly, but I didn't dare expand it, a little bit abashed to brush it against a mech's energy field. The only two exceptions to this rule was Rouge, since she was a _girl_ , and Vitallium, since he had done it so many times that it had almost become like a second greeting between the two of us.

Crashthrough nodded. "Yeah. Rou and Vit sent me out to come drag you the medbay; talking about giving you a checkup," he explained to me, to which I slowly bobbed my helm up and down.

"Oh…" I muttered, crossing my servos in understanding, before realization hit me like a brick wall. "But wait, they just scanned me…" I paused, calculating how long it's been since I've been with them. "Like a four groons ago," I said with a frown.

"You mean half a joor," Crashthrough corrected with an amused smirk, and I scowled darkly at him. Even though he couldn't see my angry scowl, I could tell that he had heard it since the smirk playing on his dermas only stretched wider. "And you'll get used to it, eventually. Rouge and Vitallium are just excited, since they hadn't had a patient aside from me, VP, and Mini in a long time," he answered, shrugging his heavy and large shoulders.

"… _Mini_?" I questioned, rummaging through my head for a designation that I knew that could remotely resemble the nickname. "Are you talking about Domino?"

Crashthrough's smirk transformed into a wicked grin. "The one and only mech who's small enough to fit that designation," he said. "Now come on, we gotta get to the medbay as soon as we can—because the more we delay, the longer my torture will last," he said with a whole body shudder.

I nodded, and began following him once he turned on his heel and began walking away.

My gaze never strayed away from his broad back, and I could feel my optical rings spinning and widening a bit as I expanded the dips and contours of the protective, dark blue plating that rested over the back of his protoform, wondering why the foreign object within my chest thrummed with sorrow and grief for a mech that I never knew.

…Yet was oddly familiar with…

* * *

Once we had arrived at the very front of the doors that separated the medbay form the outside world, Crashthrough was practically shivering in utter terror as he continued to tower over my smaller frame.

I didn't say anything to him, even though I really wanted to ask him if we was _really_ sure if he wanted to be the first one to step into the medbay that housed, according to him, two very hostile Cybertronians that were just waiting to tear him a part just so that they could piece him back together.

"Dear Primus," Crashthrough said, placing his crossed servos on his chest, his palms laid flat on his armor, and he closed his optics. "Please, _oh please_ , give me a miracle and prevent Rouge from slagging me thrice over," he muttered below his breath, looking for all the world like he was praying for the very safety of his planet from total annihilation.

Just as those words had escaped his voice box, the door to the medbay slid open, revealing a tall and slim, silver plated mech that I was very familiar with and slightly anxious to see.

"Ah, Crashthrough, just in time," Vitallium said, his dermas curving upward into a smile that I could just _feel_ was as plastic as my school's head cheerleader. "I was just about to head out and hunt you down," he said, his smile growing wider, consequently revealing his sharp, upper canines.

Crashthrough's spinal strut immediately straightened into a rigid posture, and his hand flew to the back of his helm to sheepishly rub at it as he gave off a hesitantly nervous laugh. "Well, it's a good thing I came back then."

"Yes," Vitallium drawled, his expression morphing into one of a deadpan. "Such a shame, _really_ ," he emphasized.

Crashthrough's large frame seem to shrink as he stared fearfully up at Vitallium's expressionless faceplates that even seemed much more scarier to me compared to when he got angry at Rouge for stepping out of bounds.

"'ey Vit!" A deep, female voice called from within the room, and I flickered my gaze toward a space that Vitallium wasn't blocking with his frame. I was immediately rewarded with a small view of Rouge, holding—was that supposed to be a medical tool or a weapon?— _something_ , since I wasn't really sure what the hell was she even holding, with a look of pure concentration etching her pretty faceplates. "Can you lend me that welder over there, please? This tear on Domino's frame is one _really_ stubborn fragger, and it's irritating me to _death_!" Rouge dramatically exclaimed, placing a hand over her forehead as she vented miserably.

Vitallium's shoulder plates slumped down as he minutely relaxed, his expressionless gaze never straying from Crashthrough's bulky frame as he shouted back, "Just hammer it out like a dent! His repair systems can handle the rest!"

"WHAT?!" There was an indignant squawk from within the room that made Vitallium's optical ridge give a visible twitch of irritation. "NO! Get that hammer away from me this instant, Rouge! Like Pit I'd endure recharging with joint cramps!" A voice that I could easily identify as Domino shrieked, and I could distinctly hear the pounding of heavy steps running towards the doorway.

I watched, with a mixture of amusement and pity, as Vitallium easily blocked Domino's escape with his much larger frame, practically towering over Domino and ignoring the pounding of fists against his back without a glance at the smaller mech behind him. "You're a mech, Domino. You _will_ do it," Vitallium sternly stated, and I could distinctly hear a audible click resound afterwards, immediately followed by the unmistakable whirrs of something transforming.

When the whirrs stopped, I was embarrassed to say that I jumped in surprise when I heard a loud pop—however, to defend myself, I'd like to say that it wasn't the sound that had surprised me, but what _caused_ the pop. Everything had amazingly happened within the short span of a nano-klik; Vitallium had only been standing casually, then the next thing I knew, blades—blades that were sleek and long enough to curve upwards into a complete semi-circle until the very tip could very well be brushing against Vitallium's dark green upper servo guard—had suddenly shifted out from within the admittedly limitless storage of Vitallium's servo.

I shuttered my optics at the blade, admiring the gleam that shone off of its' silver body, as the armor on my shoulder plates began spiking upwards in a show of defense and intimidation. Wariness curled within the very depths of my gut, but the foreign object within my chest merely covered my doubt of staying with these, most likely dangerous, Cybertronians, with a wave of tranquility and warmth that made my restless shoulder armor settle down.

I could hear Rouge sigh from within the medbay, as well as something being slammed down. "Just let him go, Vit. Venompoint will make sure that his tear won't get infected," I could hear her say with an air of defeat.

Vitallium didn't say anything, but I could tell by the way his shoulders hiked up into a tense posture and the armor protecting his knee joints slightly spike up, that he was most likely less than pleased with Rouge's decision to let the victim—erm, I meant _patient_ go free just like that. He gave a grunt of dissatisfaction before he moved his frame away for the doorway, giving enough room for Domino to slide through and scamper off.

Domino passed by us without a second glance, my optics immediately straying towards an anomaly that he hadn't had before we departed ways from our conversation the other solar cycle; yet before I could properly inspect the wound on his leg, the small mech had already scampered off, his slowly diminishing back the last I'd seen before he completely disappeared from my sight.

I felt my dermas tug downwards into a frown, the foreign object within my chest fueling the worry and restlessness that bubbled up within me—I knew the irritating feeling of letting a patient go without completely tending to their wounds; after all, my mother had practically drilled it into my head to _never ever_ let someone I'd be patching up just run away all because they were being pussies over a drizzle of disinfectant alcohol.

"Oh, would you stop giving me that fragging look, Vitallium," I heard a feminine voice tiredly say, and I returned my attention to the doorway, my gaze immediately focusing on Rouge's frame strutting outside as she wiped her oil-covered hands with a dirty rag. "Domino was healthy enough to leave the medbay, and the only injury he had left on him was a small armor tear on his tibulenin-kneelin joint," she explained with a roll of her ruby red optics.

Vitallium just gave her a frown, which was deep enough to dig a furrow between his optical ridges, "This is why you're still an apprentice medic, Rouge," he said, the tone of his voice taking on a berating edge. "A proper medic wouldn't let _any_ of his patients go out with anything more than a couple of scratches that they could handle," he lectured, crossing his servos over his chest, and my gaze immediately strayed towards the servo blades that hovered protectively in front of him, which seemed to glint ominously at me, which in turn made me cringe and move a step towards Crashthrough.

"And I was sure that Domino could handle a tear that small," Rouge snipped back in a controlled voice, even though her optics narrowed a little. "He had Enforcer Modules embedded into the nanites of his armor, so a small tear like that would barely do him any harm."

"Unless it gets infected," Vitallium shot back, his dermas pulling back to reveal the only pair of canines on his upper and lower dentals.

"Which is why he has an infatuated Venompoint to take care of him," Rouge said, his namesake dermas stretching into a wicked smirk. "And how many times do I have to tell you to fragging _not_ use your weapons so casually? Venompoint I can slagging understand, since his weapons aren't formatted into his frame, but the rest of you glitch-headed mechs have your weapons formatted into your frames—which, by the way, was a _stupid_ idea, what with the lack of equipment Cybertron has these days to unclog it out of your frame if it ever gets stuck," she said with a sneer as she threw the rag back in the room so that it could harmlessly land on one of the two medical berths that their small medbay contained.

"But you use your formatted weapons everyday," Vitallium said, his dermas looking much more like a pout now.

"Yeah, but at least _I_ shine them at least everyday," Rouge quipped, before she removed her attention off of Vitallium and placed it on Crasthrough, who, by the way, had started trembling a little the moment the femme's red eyes had landed on him. "You're late," Rouge bluntly stated, a deep frown marring her faceplates. "What's your excuse this time?" She asked with a droop of her optics whilst she crossed her turquoise-plated servos over her chest and placed her entire weight on one pede to give her a sassy look.

"Um..." Crashthrough began, thinning his dermas as he fought to explain his justification. "...I got a little sidetracked?" He answered unsurely.

Rouge gave him a deadpanned look, disbelief written all over her face. "What's there to get sidetracked _about_?" She demanded incredulously. "There's nothing but rocks, rusted metal, and destroyed buildings around us!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air to strongly emphasize her point. "I'd accept it if you got _sidetracked_ over Venompoint and Domino interfacing the frag outta each other into the ground, or if you saw a femme _indulging_ herself somewhere out there—" Truth to be told, I could feel the energon rushing to my cheeks as I embarrassingly cupped my faceplates into my hands, too ashamed to even sputter out loudly at Rouge's lewd options."—but since Domino was with me since the glitch-head managed to tumble down three flights of stairs, and since there aren't any other slagging femmes aside from me and Galactica here, then I see nothing that you can use to dissuade me from dismantling you and reformatting your frame into a Pit-slagging _camera_ , like those creepy little stalkers those fragging 'cons have," she growled, raising a servo, and I watched in amazement as her entire hand _literally_ swirled within the port of her wrist, only to be replaced by a _very_ sharp looking scalpel with a razor edge, and pointing it at Crashthrough in a threatening way.

"But," Rouge's husky voice instantly sliced through the heavy atmosphere that was _literally_ pressing itself down upon her heavy frames. "You're one Pit of a lucky mech today, since me and Vit have another patient to attend to," she stated and, with a loud whirr, the scalpel had slid itself back into the port of her wrist, only to be replaced by her ordinary hand. Her red optics immediately landed on my frame, and I forced the armor on my shoulder from flaring upwards in a show of intimidation and defense.

I couldn't let her know that she scared me sometimes—after all, she had been nothing but kind and caring towards me since I'd landed on Cybertron, and not once had she shown an ounce of suspicion or doubt of me being any sign of danger; the only times she hadn't been kind or caring towards me was when she was _worried_ over me, and when she was worried, Rouge tended to yell and curse. A lot. But at least I know that she _cared_ for me, which was enough for me to at least _try_ to not show her any of my fear towards her, since she was desperately trying to win my trust, just as much as I wanted to win hers.

Man, how lucky I'd been to be born a girl—and still retain a female position, as Primus had been generous enough to me. I honestly wouldn't know just what the fucking hell would Rouge do to me if I'd been reformatted into a mech instead of a femme.

And speaking of the red-opticed femme, she was starting to make her way towards me. As the very bases of her struts clicked against the metal ground underneath us, Rouge stopped right in front of her Crashthrough, since he was blocking her path to me. She merely gave him a cold look, and I could literally see a shiver travel down Crashthrough's spine before he immediately scrambled off to the side. She sniffed, before she returned her gaze to me, and I didn't know whether or not it was right of me to feel so unsettled by the sweet, _sweet_ smile that laced her carmine-colored dermas.

"Galactica!" She greeted me as she bounded over to me, her horrible mood instantly taking a complete 180 turn as she clasped her hands onto mine, making my servos jolt in surprise form the sudden action. This hadn't been the first time she'd held my hands, but I still wasn't all that much comfortable with physical contact coming from someone I wasn't _that_ close with. "Did Venompoint bring you to your room? If the bastard didn't..." As she trailed off, Rouge's optics strayed to darkly look at the far side.

I merely gave her a wry smile that I knew she couldn't see; so, to convey my feelings, I flared my energy field a little bit to brush against hers. Rouge didn't even twitch as my field of energy rubbed against hers, silently telling her that Venompoint had brought me to my room, and that he wasn't really the greatest escort or conversationalist to have ever been sparked—I decided against telling her the truth of what had happened within my room, too bitter and ashamed of my brash actions and defeat. Her energy field responded with a burst of amusement, to which I answered with a spark of frustration and annoyance.

Rouge breathed out a laugh—one that sounded free and happy, and made the foreign object within my chest thrum with the feeling of joy and delight at seeing her faceplates contort into an expression of joy—and she patted my helm, despite the fact that she was much smaller than me in terms of height. "Oh, you'll get used to it someday, Galactica. Venompoint's just like that—it's practically in his coding to be one Pit of a burnout afthole," she said. "Now c'mon, I have something very important to give you," she said, before wrapping her hand around my wrist just so that she could drag me off to the premises within her small medbay.

I shuttered my optics at her, but nonetheless I allowed her to haul me to a medical berth that she soon ordered me to sit my aft on. Once my aft connected with the smooth surface of the medical berth, I squirmed a little, because _man_ was it fragging cold. My optics flew around the blandly painted room, wondering where the frag they kept the air conditioning here, because it was just too chilly to _not_ have one.

"Hey, Vitallium!" I heard Rouge call, and my attention flew back to her. I tilted my helm at the dirty rag that she was holding, and twitched when she threw it out of the medbay with a reprimand. "Don't deactivate your weapons without shinning them! They might rust and who knows just what the frag might happen to your internals if you don't!"

Since the medbay doors were directly in front of me, I watched as the rag flew right over my faceplates and connected with Vitallium's chest, blankly staring at the rag as it innocently slipped down his frame to harmlessly land on the floor. The tall mech stared down at it with an unreadable expression on his face, as did Crashthrough and I, before Vitallium bent down to pick it up with an irritated clench of his jaw.

And boy did he look constipated.

I heightened up my audio sensors once I noticed that his dermas were moving, and I couldn't resist the smile that formed itself upon my dermas as I recognized the words that he was grumbling about whilst he began dragging the rag over the surface of his long (and _very, very_ scary) servo blades.

There were some phrases that I could catch, such as, "Cocky apprentice medic." and "I'm an official medic, so _of course_ I know this slag.", however I couldn't identify the rest since his words seemed to grow quieter until all I could hear were the cryptic hisses of static.

I ripped my gaze away from him the moment I felt a hand place itself upon the armor of my shoulder, feeling a little bit disappointed that I couldn't watch Crashthrough comfort Vitallium the minute the much bulkier mech had placed his large palm upon the smaller mech's helm—I couldn't really explain why I wanted to watch Crashthrough's interaction with all the other Transformers; however, all I could say was that I was just _interested_ in him, because, aside from the familiar tingle whenever my gaze rested on his frame, I hadn't really talked to the mech before, much less _seen_ him; because, as I say, the little glitch seemed to be avoiding me until today.

"So," I heard Rouge cough out, and I snapped my helm to face her, shrinking a little bit at the slightly annoyed expression on her faceplates. "Back to business, I have something very important to give you, but, first thing's first, I need you to do something _very_ important for me," she said, mustering up an unbelievably innocent smile to appear on her faceplates that I could just _feel_ was oozing with a hidden intent that may or may not benefit me.

I leaned away from her, this time not resisting the urge to clamp down on my slowly flaring up armor, because Rouge would easily interpret my fear as a sign of wariness for what she would want me to do for her. "And that is?" I asked her.

"I need you to remove your face guard," Rouge answered, trying to recite as slowly and as gently as she could, as if she was talking to a wild animal that could attack her at any moment.

"My...face guard?" I said, tilting my helm to the side as the armor on shoulder started to slowly settle down from its tense arc. "You want me to remove it?" I questioned her, instinctively raising my hand to trail the tips of my fingers against the smooth, transparent glass of the mask that prevented my features from being seen.

"Yes," Rouge responded with a nod her helm. "I know it must be a big fragging deal for you, since you must be pretty self-conscious of your face to have _never_ removed your face guard since you've landed on Cybertron, but sweetie, I _really_ need you to remove it now. And don't worry, this'll be a strict doctor-patient confidentiality," she said, flashing me a million-dollar smile that _should_ have been comforting but was an utter failure what with the sharp dentals that glinted predaciously at me. "What stays in the medbay, _never_ goes out. This I can fragging promise to the Pit," she vowed, bringing up her hand to emphasize her oath.

My processor worked to the limit as I tried to decipher her words that had suddenly taken on a rapid pace, feeling the rings in my optics spin to support the work my processor had been burdened with. "Uuugh," I bemoaned intelligently, gathering all of my thoughts and organizing them until I was pretty sure that I could speak clearly without sounding like a dying zombie, hence, the _dying_. "Okay?" I answered unsurely with a lift of one of my optical ridges.

"Okay?" Rouge voiced aloud, surprise painting the very expression on her faceplates. "You're _okay_ with that?" She asked me, looking gobsmacked.

I tilted my helm a little bit, feeling a little amused at how gobsmacked she appeared. A small smile tilted my dermas as I mischievously inquired, "Should I not be?"

Rouge shuttered her optics, before she shook her helm from side to side. "No, that wasn't what I meant," she protested, before elaborating to me. "I just thought you would be...less inclined to show me your faceplates," she admitted, her cheeks flushing an adorable shade of pinkish purple.

"I'm not self-conscious," was the first thing that I blurted out, and I was pleased to see Rouge pause. Good, I had stopped her from going into a full-blown rant that would take up even _more_ time I could be using to hunt down every fucking zap mouse in my room.

"Then why've you never removed your face guard?" Rouge questioned with a purse of her dermas.

At this question, I flickered my gaze to stare off at my side, finding a patch of dirt on the wall _much_ more pleasant than the Rouge's post reaction to my answer. "Because," I reluctantly started, squirming a little, and internally debating within my processors if I should _really_ tell Rouge. My self-preservation won against my embarrassment and dignity, thus I continued with a slight stumble of words at the end, "I don't know how to."

Rouge shuttered her optics at me, her faceplates morphing into a look of incredulity, amusement, then just flat out bewilderment that made me feel like I was just a baby that didn't know how to suck milk from a bottle. "You don't know _how to_ ," she stated, trying to keep her voice even, but I could still hear the rising lilt in her tone.

"...Yeah," I awkwardly confirmed, fiddling with my fingers as I noticed that there certainly was a dried, dark pink stain on the floor near the medical berth that I was sitting on. Yeah. So not creepy.

"Then how do you drink energon?" She questioned me, the furrow between her optical ridges digging even deeper than before. After a moment of silence, understanding and realization dawned upon her, and she vented out roughly. "Right. Most sparklings and younglings aren't built with face guards, and you'd just recently been upgraded into your adult frame—forgot about that one," she said. "Well," she suddenly started, causing me to a jolt slightly in surprise once I felt a pair of hands clamp themselves down upon my shoulders. "This is certainly a problem," she continued, as she then placed her hands on my helm and forced me to look at her. Her nimble fingers trailed the unarmored space between my cheek and neck, and I shivered against her cold touch.

Again, where the hell do they keep the air-con in this room?

"I can't just manually remove it," Rouge began murmuring, and I winced once one of her fingers accidentally slipped into a seam in my neck armor. "I don't have a lot of experience with removing full-face face guards, and I might damage something if I just blindly remove it from you," she muttered, before she pulled away from me. "I'm gonna have to call Vitallium for this one—if you don't mind, that is," she quickly added, once she'd seen me rub the side of my neck, interpreting the pain I'd felt for nervousness and hesitation.

I shook my helm in reply to her question; without wasting a nano-klik, Rouge swiveled her helm to the open doors of the medbay and called for her pedagogue. "Hey, Vit! I need your help!"

The aforementioned silver mech with dark green highlights didn't even look up from his progress of shinning his servo blades until they _gleamed_. "What do you want now, Rouge?" He asked with a bitter edge in the tone of his voice.

As if having heard the irritation and unpleasantry in her mentor's voice, Rouge stiffened up, before her shoulders slumped down as she released a miserable sigh. "Look," she started out in a firm yet oddly regretful tone. "I'm sorry for going out of bounds—"

"— _Again_ ," Vitallium rudely interrupted, as his green optics finally rose upwards so that he could give Rouge a narrowed look that looked more like a warning stare than an angry glare.

"—again, but I really need you to come over here right now. Galactica doesn't know how to remove her face guard, and I'm scared that I might damage something if I manually remove it from her faceplates," she hurriedly said, panting a little at the end, before shifting form one pede to another once all she received was a klik of silence from the other mech.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Vitallium responded. "If this was Breakdown or Venompoint or even Domino, you wouldn't even bat an optic lash if you ripped off their faceplates," he slyly said with a smirk adorning his dermas. He turned his helm to face Breakdown, a glint in his neon green optics. "Am I right, pal?"

Breakdown glanced down at Vitallium with glowing, golden optics, before he looked at Rouge and promptly stiffened up with a nervous swallow. "Uhhhh," he intelligently said, and I could practically imagine him sweating bullets underneath the murderous glower that Rouge was currently erecting at him. "Sorry, pal, but every mech for themselves here. I'm on her black list right now, and I'm not that eager to go any higher from where she placed me on it," he sheepishly said with a twitchy smile.

Vitallium narrowed his neon green optics at him, before a puff of smoke blew out from his nostrils. "Sore aft," he muttered.

Breakdown merely gave him a bright, sunny grin that looked more like a shit eating one to me.

"Give me a klik," Vitallium said to Rouge, making use of that one klik he'd requested by shinning his servo blades even more.

I glanced at Rouge, who automatically glanced at me, and our energy fields instinctively brushed against one another as we shared one silent thought with one another.

 _Mechs_.

A klik later, Vitallium triggered the silent and internal command to deactivate his servo blades. As I watched in amazement and curiosity, his servo blades instantly began folding into themselves so that they could shift back into a compartment within the dark green armor that protected Vitallium's servos. Gripping the dirty rag in his black hands, Vitallium began making his way towards us with a hesitant Crashthrough right behind him.

"So," Vitallium started as he arrived right in front of me, Rougr having moved to my side to accommodate the male medic if he needed anything.

Gosh, I felt like a patient in Grey's Anatomy.

"How are you feeling, Galactica?" He started off, as his energy field reached to brush against mine in a request to synch the outer layers of our energy fields. Without losing a beat, I accepted his request, and I stiffened up for an astrosecond to adjust to the sudden warmth that cascaded over my energy field as the outer layer of Vitallium's energy field began synching with the outer layer of mine. After a klik of squirming, I eventually adjusted and began to relax.

"Fine," I shrugged.

Vitallium nodded, before he placed his hands on my face mask—guard, armor, _whatever_ —and began to inspect the seams that connected my helm to my neck joint. I flinched from the cold of his touch, and he paused for a moment to look down at me with an inquiring look gleaming in his neon green optics. "Did I hurt you?" He asked me, and I concentrated my attention on his center helm piece—which, by the way, was just a gleaming, light silver pentagon that grew in length at the top point—finding it much more interesting than his intense gaze.

"No," I denied, resisting the urge to instinctively shake my helm. "Your hands are just cold," I admitted.

Vitallium stared down at me with that same, unmoving gaze of his, and I couldn't resist the squirm that my frame made. Finally, after a few beats of intense staring and utter silence, Vitallium snorted before regaining his interest in inspecting the seams of my chassis.

After a few kliks of silence and prodding at my transformation seams, Vitallium _finally_ pulled away, and I vented out a sigh of relief—because, _hello_? I wasn't the biggest fan of physical contact, and I would have flipped him on his back if he had lasted a little longer.

"Crashthrough," Vitallium addressed, turning to the mech in question. The bulky, dark blue-painted mech turned his gaze from Rouge, whom he'd been trying to plead for forgiveness, and tilted his helm to show that his attention had been captured. "Could you comm. Venompoint for me?" I immediately stiffened up at the mention of the black and dark purple mech, the foreign object within my chest sending me a burst of tranquility to soothe my slowly boiling nerves, despite it also sending me a wave of bitterness from my earlier shame and embarrassment of having been defeated so easily. "Her face guard's model is something that I've never worked with in the past, and the only solution that I can think of to solve this problem of ours is for Venompoint to teach her how to instinctively deactivate her face guard," he explained, flickering his neon green optics to direct his words to me.

I hadn't noticed that I'd been secreting my bitter and dark feelings into my energy field until I could feel Vitallium send me a burst of understanding and serenity through our synched energy fields to calm the internal storm that was raging within me. I forced myself to relax, pushing my flared up shoulder armor _down_ , and pushing my pair of dermas against one another to show how irritated and unpleased I was with the only option we had left.

"Sorry, Galactica," Rouge apologized, having sensed the imaginary dark cloud of gloom that hovered over me. "But he's the only who has a full-face face guard," she added, making me slump down even more in dejectedness.

"Doesn't mean that I'll have to like it," I grumbled underneath my breath, and I felt Rouge place a delicate hand on my upper servo to give me a comforting rub that I found, to my surprise, that I _liked_.

"Life's not fair, kiddo," Rouge said, giving me a smile that was both wistful and ironic, and made the very corners of her optics wrinkle a bit.

I _really_ felt like telling her, _Well of course life's not fair, but do you know what else isn't fair? Primus. He's practically the god of unfairness_.

* * *

It took Venompoint half a joor before he arrived, and whilst we were waiting for him, I had decided to take matters into my own hands. Determined to at least gain the trust of the three Cybertronians in front of me, I turned to my first target, the one who was the closest to me, because what better way to learn about your companions than by talking to the one nearest to you?

"Hey, Vitallium," I started the conversation, willing my voice to not trail off and begin an awkward silence like I had done several times before. "From which city state have you come from?" I curiously asked him, hoping with everything that I had that I hadn't asked a particularly touchy subject.

Vitallium's neon green optics flickered up to meet mine, and the very intensity of his gaze made me want to bolt out of the room and into the dangerous territory of my zap mouse infested quarters. Vitallium placed the—wait a minute, a _blowtorch_? What use did a blowtorch even have in a clinic?!—dangerous medical equipment back on the silver tray that held all the other equally or less dangerous medical equipment.

"I came from Iacon," was his simple answer, before his gaze drew back to the medical equipment in front of him. "It was the place where I'd been sparked and raised. They had an academy there that I attended and graduated from, though I wouldn't say that it was the best place to live in," he admitted with a grimace twisting his features.

I didn't question this any further, knowing that the ugly expression on his face was a sign that if I had asked for details then the conversation would get darker and less amiable, despite how curious I was to know _why_ Iacon hadn't been the best place to live in. Instead, I turned my attention on a new target, the one Cybertronian who I hadn't talked to the most in the little time that I had spent on this estrange home planet of theirs.

"How about you, Crashthrough?" I asked the dark blue, bulky mech who instantly jolted upright once I'd addressed him.

"Huh? Me?" Crashthrough questioned with a shutter of his ringless, yellow optics. I watched as Crashthrough tried to, and _failed to_ , discretely glance at Vitallium who didn't even bother to look back, and the bulky mech vented out roughly before he rubbed began nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I guess you could say that I came from Kaon," he said. "But I don't have a clue which city state I'd been sparked in," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

I peered closely at him, trying to detect any negative emotion on his faceplates. Having seen nothing aside from nonchalance on his faceplates, I began asking for details, "Why not?"

"Well," he began reluctantly as his gaze strayed to look down at his large pedes. "I'm amnesiac," he admitted with a bitter smile on his dermas.

I shuttered my optics at him, but whether it was from incredulity or bemusement, I didn't have a clue. Could Transformers even _have_ amnesia? Oh yeah, they _could_ , Skids from the MTMTE comic series was a prime example of that after all.

However, before I could thank him for gifting me with this sensitive (?) subject, Crashthrough continued on, "Vitallium found me in critical stasis lock underneath a pile of offlined Autobots, and he repaired me back to health, and, well, I guess you can tell what happened next," he said with smile that looked as if he'd just _escaped_ from something—because what kind of person would wear a smile with _that_ much relief and delight? Let me tell you the answer, only a prisoner would, but the question that bugged me was, of what was Crashthrough a prisoner _of_?

I looked closely at Crashthrough's faceplates, and I could see that his smile was starting to falter, and I guessed that if I asked any further than I would basically be pushing against the mech's secrets—and I knew perfectly well what secrets were like, after all, I had my own. So, deciding that I wouldn't push the mech any further, I turned my attention to Vitallium to ask him about something that didn't really fit right in Crashthrough's story.

"How did you bring him out of stasis lock? Rouge told me that you don't have the equipment to bring a mech out of one, so how?" I curiously asked with a tint of suspicion.

Vitallium lifted his optical ridges at me, but he answered nonetheless. "I found him early on in the Great War, and the necessary equipment back then were still in their proper places, instead of being hoarded into Autobot or Decepticon bases," he said, before pursing his dermas to accompany the flash of irritation and anger in his optics.

"Oh..." I murmured, and uncomfortably shifted in place when the foreign object within my chest sent me a burst of indignation, sorrow, and grief. I clasped my hands together, playing with my thumbs, and imagining as Neutral Transformers were left to rot just because the necessary equipment that they needed were being used by the factions that they hid and ran away from.

I leaned into Rouge's comforting touch, finding solace in her, and I flared my energy field so that it could brush against hers. Without having to think about it, Rouge enveloped my still developing energy field into her own, offering me warm emotions to rid away the horrible feelings that swirled within me. She gave me assurance, empathy, peace, stability and understanding, but somewhere underneath all this positive feelings that she gave to me, I could still feel the disappointment and anger that she held for the Autobots and Decepticons.

And it came to me. It had been nothing but a thought that lingered in my mind for but a moment, but it definitely left a long lasting effect on me.

The Autobots and Decepticons were both equally selfish. Both factions used every resource that they had within their reach to trick Transformers into joining their side.

For a brief moment, I felt disgusted with myself, because had I _really_ admired people who didn't seem any different than those manipulative officials that governed over the various countries of Earth?

But the disgust lingered for but a minute, because I then remembered the events that led them to become what they are _now_ , and I directed my disgust towards the Council of Elders.

The Council of Elders were mechs who were supposed to govern over the city states and the wellbeing of Cybertron and the inhabitants of people—instead, they had created the clampdown method to ensure their power and tyranny over their home planet and the people— _slaves_ —that they could play with to their spark's content.

It was _their_ fault that the Decepticons had equipped themselves with swords and fists, instead of the datapads and inspirational speeches that they had used before. It was _their_ fault that the Autobots hadn't been able to continue the meetings of truce with the Decepticons to find a way to calm the growing storm and renew a corrupt and useless empire into an age where the people could be _helped_.

It was _their_ fault, because if they had just _listened_ to the cries of those who wanted help, then the Neutrals wouldn't have to suffer form the effects of the Great War.

If...If they had just _listened_ ; then Rouge and Vitallium and Crashthrough and Domino and even Venompoint wouldn't have to live through the horrors of the Great War.

...And I wouldn't have to be separated from my loved ones.

* * *

"WHAT?!" A loud exclamation broke through the atmosphere, and I winced from the high pitch that entered my audio sensors. "YOU CAN'T DEACTIVATE YOUR MASK?!" Venompoint asked me with a look of incredulity and wonderment plastered upon his faceplates.

I narrowed my optics at him, creating a deep furrow as my optical ridges grew closer to one another, and I pursed my dermas as I snarkily responded, "And is that such a bad thing?"

The large, black and purple painted mech narrowed his carnally red optics at me, his dermas pulling themselves back to morph into a feral snarl that exposed the pair of sharp, canine-like dentals on both the upper and lower portion of his mouth. "Even a newly-sparked sparkling knows how to remove their own mask! It should have been embedded into your coding the nano-klik you onlined!" He complained, his servos arching as he wildly gestures his point.

I stared blankly at him, before I vented out deeply and tried to reason with him, despite the bitter feeling that welled up inside of me. "It might be because I'm from a different planet that my codings are different than yours."

To my surprise, Rouge had protested against my words. "That's impossible, Galactica," was what she'd said as a starter, and I moved my gaze to her. "A Transformer's body is still a Transformer's body; even if you're from a different planet, you're internal programming and basic codings are still the same as ours," she explained to me. "Even a techno-organic's internal programming and basic codings are the same as ours, it's the physical appearance and kibble that differentiates us from one another," she added.

I shuttered my optics at her, before I slowly nodded. She knew more than I did—after all, she was both a medic and a femme that had lived longer on this planet than I have—so I had no reason to _not_ trust her words.

"Oh," I muttered, feeling a little embarrassed for assuming too soon.

"But Galactica's right for one thing," Vitallium smoothly butted himself into the conversation. "She's from a different planet, and as I've been observing about her, her home planet's culture is _much_ different from ours. For starters, the use of EM fields are completely unnecessary to them in terms of socializing." Once he'd said this, every native Cybertronian within the room raised their optical ridges as they regarded me with skepticism etched upon their faceplates. "Secondly, Erk's Transformers are friendly with the organic natives, according to Galactica," he said, giving me a pointed look, to which I confirmed by bobbing my helm. "And lastly, it seems to me that Erk's Transformers are sparked differently," he said, before looking at me. "Because, according to her, a hot spot on Erk is a public place where they can receive this sacred wi-fi of theirs," he droned with droopy, neon green optics.

"Wi-fi?" Crashthrough and Domino echoed, the latter tilting his helm to display his confusion over the term.

"They're not sparklings," Vitallium cleared out.

"Then what's wi-fi?" Crashthrough asked, turning to look at me for guidance with bright, golden optics that could have rivaled the sun.

"The greatest thing that's ever been created," I automatically answered, crossing my servos to show that I _so_ wasn't going to be convinced otherwise.

All five native Cybertronians glanced at one another, and for a moment I could see that their gaze grew misty before the haze completely disappeared. They all shuttered their optics, before looking at me with an air of agreement.

The armor on my shoulder flared upwards, because I could just _feel_ that they were talking about me via comm. line.

"Guys?" I called them, and they immediately tensed up, Domino and Crashthrough looking as if they'd just been caught doing something immoral and dirty. "My mask?"

Almost immediately, everyone turned to look at Venompoint, who immediately responded to the sudden attention by snarling darkly at everyone.

"I ain't doing it," Venompoint huffed, crossing his servos as he pointedly looked away. "Let her starve for all I care. Maybe then she'd learn how to deactivate her mask," he said.

My armor immediately flared out at his harsh words, but I didn't dare say or do anything. The fresh wound that had been left on me since our earlier meeting still stung, and I wasn't ready to rub any salt on it by getting my aft handed to me _again_.

"VP..." Domino said softly, and I slowly turned my gaze to the sweet mech. His baby blue optics were larger than usual, and he looked _so fucking adorable_. Strangely, he reminded me of a chihuahua getting out of a bath. "Come on, why don't you just help Galactica? She hasn't done anything wrong since she came here," he said, and I internally winced—because I _had_ , by attacking Venompoint. "And Rouge likes her—"

"She's a _femme_ , so of course Rouge likes her," Venompoint scoffed, rudely interrupting Domino's insisting.

"Well _I_ like her!" Domino finally bursted out, his optical ridges furrowed deeply as he jutted his bottom derma out. "And I don't like her just because she's a femme!" He exclaimed, holding his servos tight against his sides as he clenched his hands into tight balls. "Galactica's nice and funny, and she also knows when she's gone too far unlike a certain mech here!" He hissed, the armor protecting his upper servos arching up a bit.

The foreign object within me pulsed with a kind of warmth that made me feel like butterflies were fluttering about and bubble were popping within my stomach. It made me feel like I'd just _accomplished_ something, like I'd just won an award; basically, I just felt downright _flattered_.

I turned to look at Venompoint to see what his faceplates had morphed into, and the triumphant feeling that swelled within me practically deflated like a worn-out balloon once I'd seen the expression that he wore.

A cacophony of internal feelings masked his faceplates, all of which were none too pleasant to even _look_ at, and all of which nobody in the room missed seeing. Surprise, panic, fear, and pain were the four main emotions that stood out, and I felt bad for him—because, as Rouge had told me several times before, Venompoint had considered Domino as a close friend, maybe even something more, and to be compared to someone who they'd barely known must have hurt him a lot.

I wanted to reach out to him, to pat him on the back and give him a hug—because he looked like he really needed one right now—but I knew that our current unstable relationship with one another wouldn't allow me to. He didn't like me one bit, nor was he trying to, and I shared the same sentiments with him, but I felt somewhat bad for him right now. And plus, it made no sense for two people who didn't like each other to suddenly be seen hugging and comforting one another.

In fact, it looked downright _weird_. And by weird I meant the kind of weird where pigs could fly and hell just froze all over.

However, the foreign object within my chest reached out for him, singing a tune that made something within me clench painfully at the melancholic notes that only I could hear. Feeling a little reluctant and hesitant with what I had decided to do, I allowed my energy field to expand slowly, pouring every once of willpower as I concentrated on shaping my energy field into a narrow path to avoid brushing against any other Cybertronian's energy field aside from my target.

When I was close enough to brush against Venompoint's energy field, I hesitated, internally wondering what his energy field would be like when I brushed against it and what would his reaction be to my action. While I debated if whether or not I should continue with what I was about to do, the foreign object within my chest pulsed brightly, enough to radiate strongly through my energy field and giving it the push that was needed to connect with Venompoint's energy field.

My spinal strut had jolted into a straight posture at the exact same moment Venompoint had tensed up. However, before I could feel anything from Venompoint's energy field, the foreign object had started to pump feelings— _assurance, comfort, confidence, empathy, and serenity_ —through the temporary connection we shared.

After a brief moment, I had realized what I'd just done; in my horrifying surprise, I forcibly ripped my energy field away, instantly breaking the short connection as I pulled my energy field back within me, my cheeks instantly flushing from the rush of energon that went towards there from my embarrassment.

Venompoint snapped his red gaze to me, but I refused to look at him in the eye, finding the dark pink energon stain much more interesting than the mech's face.

Finally, after a few kliks of complete silence with the other four Cybertronians switching from looking at me and looking at Venompoint, the aforementioned mech finally spoke up with a deep baritone.

"Fine."

Honest to Primus, when Venompoint had said that one, tiny yet precious word, I could literally _hear_ everyone's neck joint crack as they snapped their helms to look at him.

"What?" All five of us echoed to Venompoint, confusion radiating from all of us.

Venompoint sniffed haughtily, his nose—or olfactory sensors—wrinkled a bit in irritation. "I said _fine_. Fine, I'll teach the Pit-spawned femme already," he growled lowly.

I shuttered my optics, disbelieving whatever the frag I'd just heard; the next thing I knew, when I'd opened my optics, the large, darkly painted mech was already towering over me, the red light of his optics glowering down at me.

My shoulder armor arced up even further as I shrunk underneath his gaze, feeling a pool of unease swirl within my energon tanks.

I _swear_ I didn't flinch when Venompoint suddenly slammed his hands, palm flat, against the cold interior of the medical berth at my sides, effectively caging me in, and looking for all the world that he might just kill me and even make a show out of it in front of the others. (Okay. Maybe I _did_ , but only just a little.)

"I want you to watch me very closely, femme," Venompoint said. "Because I'll only do this once," he added it as if it was an after thought.

I slowly nodded my helm.

"Activating your face guard is much harder than deactivating it," Venopoint started. "You have to think of every single part when you activate it, in chronological order. First, you activate the chin guard," he said, tapping the sturdy glass of the mask where my chin would be. "Then the cheek guards," he said, tapping the aforementioned parts. "Then the mouthpiece and nose guard," he continued, and I winced when he tapped a little too hard on the glass that hovered over my olfactory sensors. "And then finally, you activate your optic guards," he finished, pulling his finger away from my masked faceplates.

"Got it memorized?" Venompoint asked me, and I slowly nodded. "Great. Now time to show you how it works," he said, venting deeply for a minute as he closed his optics to probably concentrate on what he was about to do.

And then, a flurry of metal parts shifted out of their hiding places from within the shallow crevices and transformation seams that were found at the edges of Venompoint's faceplates, moving to hurriedly cover the large mech's faceplates. As Venompoint had instructed to me, his chin had been the first one to be covered, immediately followed by pieces of metal that covered the entirety of his cheeks, then his dermas and nose. I watched, with amazement and wonderment swirling within my energon tanks, as a transparent, glass visor slid out to cover his optics.

A nano-klik later, the death gray visor was suddenly illuminated by a bright, dark red light that shone from within; a familiar voice spoke up from behind the face mask, sounding deeper than it had originally been, "Did you watch?"

"Yes," I answered Venompoint's question, inspecting his face guard. It was primarily black in color, with a only a thin, purple line that streaked down over both of his cheeks, beginning the very edges at where his optics would be and ending at the very edges of the mask, making it look like he was crying. The dark reddish glow of his visor seemed ominous enough, and I was reminded of how dangerous this mech was when the image of the Cybertronian's corpse from outside had flashed through my processor.

I resisted the shudder that threatened to ripple down my back.

"Great," Venompoint said bluntly. "Now time to show you what even _sparklings_ can do," he said with an all too knowing jeer in his voice, to which I bristled to but refrained from reacting _too_ much. He was helping me, after all, so it wouldn't really be wise to bite the hand that feeds me, no matter how annoying the owner's hand is.

"Compared to activating your face guard, you don't have to do it in chronological order when you're deactivating it," Venompoint continued on his with his lecture, and I attentively listened, determined to know if Primus had been kind enough to give me a face. "It's an instinctual command, really. Once you think about it, the thing instantly comes off, see?" He said, and with the sounds of whirrs ringing quietly in the air, his face mask instantly collapsed into a few pieces, before they shifted back into their proper hiding places, revealing the faceplates of the mech that had been protected behind it.

"Now," he started off, sounding innocent despite the half-sneer, half-smirk, that painted his dermas. " _You_ try it."

I shuttered my optics, before I nodded slowly, unsurely; because I wasn't really sure if I could do it. Having felt my doubt, the foreign object within my chest relayed a burst of self-confidence and motivation, silently telling me that, _yes, I most certainly_ can _do it_.

And I tried. Really, I did. But after a few kliks of _nothing_ , the doubt started to creep back, and I was pretty sure that the foreign object's assumption was merely nothing but an assumption.

I couldn't do it.

"Will you slagging relax?" I jolted upright when a pair of hands placed themselves upon my shoulders and firmly held me. My gaze immediately drew itself to Venompoint's red-opticed one, and I could see the disappointing frown on his face. "Look, remember what I told you. You have to _think_ about it," he said.

I slowly shuttered my optics at him from behind my mask, before I did so _once again_. Nothing happened, and I did once more. Feeling a little frustrated with myself and for this _stupid, stupid_ mask _that wouldn't just come off!_ , I sent a loud message to the foreign object within my chest, with my shoulder armor flaring out tightly, to get rid of this fragging menace of a ma-!

 _Ping!_

My thoughts immediately stopped to a halt when I heard the loud chime of a bell. After shuttering my optics, I noticed that a notification box had appeared on the screen of my mask, with writings that were written in the familiar human alphabet, and was, to my great displeasure, _orange_ in color.

With a frown, I decided to read it, because the sooner I'd read it, the sooner's it'd disappear. However, once my optics had roamed the entirety of the message, I blinked and raised both of my optical ridges at the blunt permission that had been sent to me.

 **Permission to Remove Full-Face Face guard?**

I stared blankly at the orange message—and then, with excitement and eagerness surging through my energon lines, I sent a internal burst of _yesyesyesYES!_ to the permission. A nano-klik later, I could hear the tell-tale signs of whirring, followed by the feeling of something shifting in front of my faceplates. A small, open space appeared between the collapsed parts of my mask, and I instinctively closed my optics when I felt a burning pain surge towards my optics when the light hit it.

And then, a heartbeat later, I felt cold air sweep over my face, causing goosebumps to travel down my arms from the sudden cold and freedom that my faceplates experienced. Feeling anxious and nervous of what I would look like, I allowed my optics to remain closed, feeling a pool of dread settle in the pit of my gut as I could hear the statics of whispers from the others.

"Do I look..." _Ugly? Mutated? Dear Primus,_ please _tell me that I have a face for the sake of sweet, frozen mangoes!_ I internally wailed. "...Alright?"

The almost silent whispers immediately came to a halt, and I could feel Venompoint's warm presence move away from me, only to be replaced by another. The familiar nudge of Rouge's energy field against mine was comforting, and I allowed myself to be enveloped in her warm and soothing EM field that burned brightly with three emotions that greatly confused me of what I looked like.

The surprise, wonderment, and speechlessness that she emitted from her energy field weren't all that informative. Deciding that enough was enough, I shoved my anxiety and nervousness underneath my overwhelming curiosity, and slowly opened optics.

There were few gasps of surprise from the others, and I moved my gaze from one to another. The closest to me, Rouge, was staring at me with wide, ruby red optics; Venompoint was looking down at me with a mixture of incredulity and surprise masking his faceplates, which looked amusing to me; Domino was peeking over Rouge's shoulder, and I could see the gobsmacked expression that he wore; Vitallium was looking at me with amazement and surprise, his mouth shaped into an O; Crashthrough, so far, wore the funniest look I'd ever seen—because he looked like a dying fish that was being fried in oil.

The silence that hovered over us was deafening, until one brave mech broke it.

"Are you sure I can't sell her?" Venompoint asked, with a calculating gleam in his red optics, making everyone snap their helms to look incredulously at him. The black and purple mech merely furrowed his optical ridges and gave his signature scowl of resentment. " _What?!_ I for one know that she'd fetch one fragging hell of a price if we sell her!"

There was the sound of metal colliding against metal, and I watched as Venompoint lurched forward and nearly spawn over me if Rouge hadn't pulled me closer to her.

"Venompoint!" An annoyed Domino hovered over Venompoint, who was clutching his sore helm that had an impressive dent at its right side. "We do _not_ sell people! Unless they've hurt one of us!" The smaller mech scolded, but I wasn't really comforted by that statement, because it meant that they probably _have_ sold other Cybertronians.

And as I looked down at the dark pink stain that had dried on the ground, I didn't feel any better.

Dear Primus, what kind of group had I just landed _into_?

* * *

 ** _Requesting to open Internal Logging...Requesting...Requesting...Request: granted._**

 ** _Opening Internal Logging; Accessing New File...New File: accessed._**

 ** _Opening New File... New File: opened; Opening New Unit File...New Unit File: opened._**

 ** _Access to Unit File Number 006: granted and awaiting further actions._**

Galactica here, dear diary of mine, since I can't really call this a journal because like Pit I'd let other people read this private, little thing of mine.

Anyways, back to what I'd done today, I guess I can say that I've made some progress compared to the other days I've spent on this wasted excuse of a planet that was _barely_ running for the sake of its inhabitants.

Cybertron, as several series had been wrong about, _wasn't_ dead. But it was damn well close to, after what I've seen of it so far. For starters, there was no _light_ on this planet—considering that there wasn't even a sun in the first place to light it up—but the dark sky with stars littering about and lighting up the dark atmosphere that hovered us was good enough; problem was, I couldn't recognize a _single_ constellation, which not only reminded me of how _isolated_ I was with everyone, but also made me feel sad—because, a long time ago, when I'd been younger and more naive, my family and I would make it a point to watch the stars at least _once_ whenever dad had come back home from the military, to take a break for only a month compared to the eleven months he spent working. I'd memorized _some_ of the constellations, but I was vaguely familiar with all of them.

But now...I could only look up at the completely unfamiliar star-filled sky, and wonder which star made up what constellation.

Anyways, back to the main topic right now, another thing that I'd noticed about Cybertron was that nearly _everything_ was destroyed, in Kaon at least. I could easily imagine buildings, high and towering with the very tip nearly grazing Cybertron's safety atmosphere, being ravaged to the ground by the war, with Bay-like explosions happening in the background and mechs of every kind dragging one another to death. It was an ugly image, but that was the only image that I could imagine whenever I looked at the leftover debris and rocks and metals that were scattered around; I couldn't imagine the beauty of what these buildings _might_ have been.

The only buildings I'd seen intact were the line of small houses that the group that'd helped me occupied, but even I could see how damaged they were with how some edges of the roofs were crumbling.

Lastly, I'd seen and heard how the supply of energon in Cybertron were tightly limited, even close to being drained, as Vitallium had stated with a bitter tone as always. There might have been less than thousand survivors left on Cybertron, but only a few hundred could be fully fed, which led to the creation of the 'Pit System,' as everyone liked to call it so.

The Pit System, as Rouge had described to me, was basically as system where every Gladiatorial Arena scattered about Cybertron handled the supplies of energon, since only mechs from the Gladiatorial Arena were strong and capable enough to mine for the energon in what little energon mines that were left. The one who supervised the whole thing was the Gladiatorial Arena in Kaon AKA the Gladiatorial Pit. The distribution of energon was selfish and greedy, since the only way you could get at least _one_ cube was by exchanging it for a 500 credits or 1250 pieces of shanix.

Rouge had told me that the price was expensive and unfair, but that was life and there was no other business to turn to for energon.

And the only way they'd earned credits or shanix was by working for it. Crashthrough was the one who provided most of the money, since he worked as a gladiator, and his reward was a pouchful of credits and a cube of crappy high-grade energon that could be exchanged for three cubes of mid-grade energon or six cubes of low-grade energon. Vitallium was a part-time medic for the Gladiatorial Pit, and he earned a bit of credits and shanix from his work of repairing mechs. Domino and Venompoint, as the former had joyously explained to me, were scavengers—the one who scavenged for metal parts that could be sold off depending on the condition and kind of the metal—and so far they've earned a tiny amount of credits and shanix daily.

Rouge didn't have a job, as did I, and the reason behind that was quickly explained by both Crashthrough and Domino. The two of us were femmes, after all, and we would be in danger of any mech that had seen us. Femmes were mostly known to be pleasurebots around ever single district of Kaon, and as Domino had said, a mech or several wouldn't mind stealing us and using us as companions of the night or, as Venompoint had bluntly said, _frag-toys_.

Which led to the rule of Rouge and I having to strictly obey the rule of the two us _never_ leaving the territorial premises.

But, Cybertron in crisis matters aside, I have _some_ good news, one of which were my relationships with the Cybertronian Neutrals that I'd landed myself into.

I had learned a few joors ago that Venompoint was not only a master of Pit Fighting but also a master of Metallikato. Crashthrough had explained to me that Pit Fighting was the Cybertronian martial art of dirtyand free for allfighting that gladiators would use, whereas Metallikato was the Cybertronian martial art of fighting with weapons, most usefully paired with blades.

Venompoint, as always, was as distrusting of me—however, I could certainly see that _something_ had clearly changed, and I could tell that it had something to do with the earlier 'Accidental Brush of Energy Fields' (See? I even gave it a fragging _title_.) event. He no longer bared his dentals at me whenever he saw me, but his glare was as strong as it had been before. We still didn't talk that much, but there was an air above us whenever we met that spoke more of our strained relationship of being strangers to one another, and more like 'getting to acquaintances' part.

Venompoint was also stronger than me, and I was determined to become stronger than him. Like hell I'd allow such a bastard to be stronger than me, and the motivation from my easy defeat only fueled my resolve to train my new body—which, I'd learned, wasn't as flexible as it'd been before, but the muscle memory was _still there_ , since I could still walk on my two feet without stumbling.

My relationship with Domino had flourished as well over the course of the past few days, and only now I'd seen how our relationship had grown from its awkward stage. After what he's said about me to Venompoint in the medbay, I felt the urge to turn my original 'hardly friends' to 'friends.' Domino was kind to me, and he didn't stop giving me cheerful waves and greetings. Our conversations, much to my pleasant surprise, lasted longer than it had been before, and I'd learned most of Cybertron's history from him.

He had also mentioned to me once that his weapons were a pair of plasma cannons that had been reformatted into his servos. I didn't know what they looked like, since he didn't give me the opportunity to catch a glimpse of them, but he did say they packed a better punch than Venompoint's swords, to which the aforementioned mech protested with a loud snarl.

Another thing I'd learned about Domino was that he _hated_ talking about his past, as Rouge had warned me, telling me that it was an incredibly sore spot for the smallest mech in our group. And another thing about him was that he _hated_ going to the medbay, as later today, Rouge had pinned him down to the berth so that she could hammer out the dent on his tibulen.

My relationship with Vitallium seemed to have improved, to a limit I guess. He still treated me with a kind of professional indifference, but this time he was much kinder than he had been before. How could I tell? Well, he smiled to me more often, and we got this thing going on where he would greet me with a synch of our EM fields at least once a day—which, to me, seemed like a vast improvement than before where he would treat me stoically and professionally. He would also ask me if there was something wrong with me, if I was feeling different, and what my home planet had been like.

Vitallium had also stated earlier that he had come from Iacon, and had attended the Iaconian Academy of Sciences and Arts, graduating with a Masters degree from the Medical Aid and Repair course. He had explained laater on, when we were the only two people in the medbay, (Rouge having gone out of the room to teach Venompoint a thing or two about selling femmes with Domino and Crashthrough in tow to watch the brawl) why he had said that Iacon wasn't really the best place to live in.

Iacon, as he had greatly stressed, was the center point of illegal races. He had said that mechs and femmes from all over Cybertron would compete in it, risking their lives as they raced through obstacles that one could only dream of in the worst nightmares, all for the sake of credits and for the enjoyment of the crowds. Vitallium had said that it was a disgusting act, but had also added that he felt sorry for those who had lost their lives in those races, because those Cybertronians had only competed because the Iaconian illegal races were their only source of support for credits.

My relationship with Rouge was the best so far. Despite her crude and lewd mouth towards the mechs, and on rare occasions to me, she was just being blunt and strict as always. Her trust in me had only grown, and I was starting to trust her little by little—after all, how could I resist someone who'd been nothing but kind and helpful to me for most of the time? She hadn't directed an ounce of hostility towards me, nor did she show any sign of wanting to hurt me. Instead, the only thing she showed to me was the need to teach me, to help me, and to protect me.

I didn't like the feeling of someone I barely knew _wanting_ to protect, but Crashthrough had told me that Rouge was pretty possessive and protective of everyone—and, if she had the chance, she would wrap thick layers of bubble wrap around us to prevent us from even getting a single _scratch_.

And, as I'd remembered from our first meeting, Rouge had told me that she had come from Praxus. She had said, on one of our conversations at a later date, that Praxus had been one of the most beautiful city states that she'd ever been, that the Helix Gardens were uncomparable, and that the mechs and femmes there were as strict as Venompoint was scowl-ful. However, she always had this bitter smile on her face whenever she talked about it, and I knew that it was because of the destruction of her home town.

I liked Rouge. Really, I _do_. And I didn't like seeing her so sad, but what else could I actually do? It's not like I could just build an entire city—but maybe, _just maybe_ , I _can_ since what else could I do on Cybertron? The Autobots and Decepticons were gone, Earth was who knows how many miles away, and really, there wasn't anything else to do aside from _surviving_ —but I did shove the thought into a part of my processor for reviewing.

And Crashthrough...Well, our relationship had _certainly_ evolved through leaps—since we were _talking_ with one another instead of him avoiding me all throughout. He was...nice, for a lack of better term, since he _did_ catch me instead of letting me fall to the ground like Venompoint would most likely do. He seemed to approve of my stay somewhat, since he would cast me smiles whenever our optics met and he _did_ say that I was funny, which in turn made me much more bearable than Venompoint, I guess.

However...Crashthrough would send me glances that I'd only caught him doing several times. He'd look at me, and when I'd notice that he was looking at me, he'd immediately turn his gaze somewhere else, as if he was pretending that he wasn't doing anything. One time, I'd caught him staring at me with a look that was a mix of distrust and suspicion.

I could tell that he was expecting me to suddenly transform into a Tommy shotgun and fill everyone with holes. Vitallium had warned me that Crashthrough had been incredibly paranoid when he'd found him, something about the trauma of being buried underneath the corpses of several mechs. He claimed to have amnesia, but I could tell that he _remembered_ something from his past or just wasn't telling the whole thing, since he kept glancing at Vitallium when he had told the story of his past.

And that sorrowful pulse the foreign object within my chest would do whenever it saw Crasthrough only urged on my curiosity to find out who exactly he was. For the meantime, he could stay the little conundrum all he wanted, for now, but I _will_ found out who exactly he was. I knew, for starters, that he wasn't a canon character, since the name Crashthrough didn't ring any bells, and there several mechs with red faceplates, dark blue and silver armor, and a fat frame.

...I think, but there was only _one_ mech had who fit that description, and he was most certainly a mech with a faction that I wouldn't really want to engage in combat with.

On another note, I have finally had my first taste of energon. It was the sole reason for why Rouge had wanted me to remove my mask. The energon she had given me was a solid—and she had explained to me that younglings that had just been upgraded into their adult frames would have to interchange every orn between solid energon cubes and liquid energon.

The solid energon was the size of my hand, and it had been shaped into a cube. It glowed a pinkish purple light, and when I had taken a sip, it tasted... _unique_. Well, to be more accurate, it tasted like what gasoline would taste like when you inhaled the air, but when I had drank it, it didn't taste _bad_. It actually tasted...pretty good, I guess, because if you discounted the gasoline taste, there was a slight sweetness to it that reminded me of buttered milk mixed with sugar.

But I'd take frozen mangoes and chocolate over energon _any day_. Hell, I'd even take _salad_ over it, but only on some days hahaha.

And what I looked like? Well...I couldn't really call myself ugly, since I looked kind of pretty. My pretty might not have been the cute, supermodel pretty that Rouge seemed to sport on a daily basis (it's all in the shinning, she'd told me);no, I had that _exotic_ look as Rouge and Domino had commented a joor or more after they'd seen my faceplates.

My dermas were certainly much more defined and plumper than they had been before, with a light pinkish hue to it, but every femme had lips somewhat similar to mine, but the rest of my Cybertron features were just as similar to my human ones. The contours of my face were just the same as when I'd been human: smooth and soft that led to a strong a sharp jawline that I had inherited from my father; my nose was small with a slightly sharp lilt, that Rouge had gushed over and over again of how Vosian femme it looked, whatever that meant; my cheekbones weren't as high as Rouge's were, but they were moderately high enough that whenever I smiled you could see how fragging big they were—seriously, when I smiled, it was like I had baseballs for cheeks—and Rouge would gush _again_ over how cute I looked when I smiled.

It had seemed like Primus had tried to retain all my human characteristics for my face, to maybe remind me of what I'd been before he'd shoved me on this Primus-forsaken planet of his.

But it was my optics that Rouge and Domino had told me were the most exotic part of my appearance. They had told me, that even though I possessed a complete war-build, my optics were most certainly _not_ of a war-build—because war-built femmes had optics that were sharp on either sides, as Rouge had told me. _My_ optics were slightly rounded at the far edge, then slanted sharply towards the middle of my faceplates—but more of an _abbot-build_.

And what was an abbot-build?

Well, abbot-builds were builds that were only exclusive to femmes, per se. Additionally, abbot-builds were builds that were used by _priestess_ Cybertronians, the femmes that accompanied the High Priest of Cybertron, the mech that was third to rank after the Prime and Lord High Protector in terms of religion. Priestesses weren't built for war, but more of a civilian femme with extra armor on them to protect themselves from these so called 'impurities' from mechs with dirty intentions, as Domino had droned on for me.

Basically, priestesses of Cybertron were like the priestesses and nuns of Earth.

Born a virgin, die a virgin.

I might have been fine with being a virgin, but like _fuck_ was I dying a virgin! I'd already died as a human virgin, so like fuck I'd die a Cybertronian virgin as well!

But Rouge and Domino had immediately placated me that I had a _war-build_ and not an _abbot-build_ , so I wouldn't have an iron wall covering my anterior valve like all abbot-builds and priest-builds had. And, to placate me even further, Vitallium had butted in and told me that I didn't have a single coding pertaining to abbot-builds within me, after a quick and thorough scan of me that left my frame feeling tingly and deeply violated once again.

I was greatly relieved, because then I had the _choice_ of not dying as a virgin. Now, the only problem left right now was _who_ exactly I was going to lose my virginity to, but that could always be mulled over at a later date when I had someone I was _actually_ interested in.

Venompoint and Domino had this hot thing going on between them, so I'd cross them out. Rouge was a girl, and I needed a _mech_ to get rid of my virginity. Vitallium and Crashthrough were immediately listed off, since the former wasn't really my type and the latter just didn't look like...well, a romantic interest per se.

Which left me with nobody, which only gave me the option of _waiting,_ which was fine enough for me since _technically_ I was still seventeen years old, and probably will be for the rest of my human life if I discount the years I'd spend as a Transformer, and there was no need to hurry it up.

After all,

YOLO, I guess, if you discount this was probably my second life.

And another thing about my optics that made them exotic was that they were _orange_.

Orange. _Orange, orange, **orange**_.

Of all the slagging colors in a goddamn palette, Primus chose them to be orange.

I swear, Primus was _such_ a jackass troller who deserved to be roasted on a spire for all to see.

When I had seen the orbs of orange monstrosity on my faceplates, I didn't scream. No, I didn't. Instead, I just smiled.

As I thought of a million ways to _murder_ Primus with nothing but a rusty knife.

Primus, help yourself, because I am going to _slaughter_ you.

 _ **Updating Unit File 000...Updating...Updating...Updating: complete.**_

 _ **Storing Unit File 006 into Memory Core behind Inner Firewall Z-46...Storing: complete.**_

 ** _Accessing Recharge Systems: granted._**

 ** _Recharge Systems: activating in 3...2...1_**

Blackness, and nothing but that.

* * *

 **ROUGE - I**

Praxus was the pride and joy of any Cybertronian who cherished the old and traditional ways, it was the very epicenter of flourishing growth for both merchants and traders alike, and it was the home to the famous Helix Gardens which used to contain hundreds of thousands of crystals of all shapes and sizes that would gracefully float in mid-air and resonate a wave of sound that could calm even the most aggressive of mechs.

Praxus was a city-state that mechs from everywhere knew about—even those from the lowest of lows from every city-state knew about this particular city's glory and glamour that only one would be lucky enough to step in. And the citizens of Praxus, the Praxians, were one of the most loyal citizens a city state could have ever been blessed with—even going so far as to reconfigure their frames so that they would remotely resemble Praxus's international trading symbol and literary symbol.

And though there is now nothing left of the once glorious city that used to stand tall with grandiose buildings that nearly scraped against Cybertron's very atmosphere and complicated architectural structures that would take both scientific and artistic geniuses to create, the very last of Praxus's citizens are still bringing glory and pride to the word, 'Praxian,' itself.

Most known out of all the remaining and surviving Praxians to this very day would be three Autobots who had managed to climb through the ranks with their exceptional and irreplaceable skill that any mech would be envious of. Prowl, the infamous Second-In-Command of the entire Autobot army, with a personality module as stern and strict as his faceplates, and a processor that could compute hundreds of probabilities for a single situation in the matter of twenty seven point six astroseconds.

(And yes, It _is_ timed, much to the Decepticon's horror, because timing it could give the possibility of it getting _better_.)

Bluestreak, the Autobot's _best_ sharpshooter with an aim that would never miss as long as he took a sidelong glance through his scope or at his target no matter the distance nor mobility, was the brightest and chattiest mech in the entire Autobot army, much to his comrades' displeasure, despite his gloomy and bland paintjob that would make anyone _but_ Prowl wonder where the frag did his designation even come from.

Smokescreen was one of the Autobot's _trickiest_ mechs, and most certainly one of the most colorful Praxians anyone would come to understand once they'd taken a peek at his paintjob—which, by the way, was a colorful disaster of blue, red, yellow, white, black, and the occasional green that would make one wonder if _he_ had stolen Bluestreak's blue. He was very charming and friendly mech indeed, but behind that mask, lies a psychologist who can see and calculate your every move.

These three Autobot soldiers are the very pride and joy of Praxus, once again giving meaning to what their sparkplace had represented before it had been obliterated to the very ground—however, what most people seem to forget is...

 _Are there others?_

Of course, maybe this thought might have streaked through your processors once or twice—but who _would ever_ think of that when there were three excellent Praxians who were powerhouses in their own rights? Why would a Decepticon worry about _another_ , much _useless_ , Praxian when there were three standing right there in front of him and just about ready to bring doom over his spark? Why would an Autobot worry about _another, unnecessary_ Praxian when there were already three excellent, and much noteworthy Praxians to stand by with?

Which is why, right now, I would like to tell all of you a story.

The story of the last _femme_ Praxian in all of Cybertron.

 **ROUGE**

When a tiny ball of energy had been sparked to life from the very powers of the almighty Allspark—that, according to the Curate of Primus, had been gifted to them by their almighty father in order to bless them with creations without having to go through immense pain or long amounts of time to create the very essences that every sentient being is blessed with—a pair of soon to be creators had been waiting for it with a blank sparkling shell that would morph into the ideal image of the spark's desire.

One of them, a mech that stood tall with his shoulders looking broad from over the thick armor plating of his chest plates, had the standard paintjob of any enforcer prowling through the streets of Praxus. His chevron, gold at the horns with the very epicenter a stark silver, gleamed brightly from under the shade of the light that illuminated from Vector Sigma's—the puppet that would connect the Allpspark's sacred power to the outside world without having to endanger the sacred artifact—glowing globe, and his black and white-striped doorwings quivered slightly from the powerful energy that his sensitive net sensors were able to pick up.

A finger trailed over the very edges of his left doorwing, causing the mech to jolt from his amazed stupor and turn to his sparkmate with flushed faceplates.

"Carousel!" The mech snapped, his dermas pulling back to shape itself into a feral snarl. "How many times do I have to tell you?! _Don't_. _Do_. _That_. _IN PUBLIC!_ " The mech snarled, his dark yellow optics brightening to a whitish yellow, as he expressed his irritation from having been teased in such a serious situation.

His sparkmate—a femme with a frame that sloped down into luscious curves that one would usually find in the lower, and much sinfully and less humble parts of Cybertron. Her paintjob was primarily black in color, with streaks of dark red and dark pink to accentuate her in a way that would attract the optics of both mechs and femmes alike. Her chevron, that was much smaller yet curvier than the mech's, was a startling shade of dark red that accentuated her ruby red optics and dermas, whilst her averagely small doorwings were a humble shade of black with a dark pink line cutting straight through the darkness—merely smirked. "Oh, but _sweetspark_ ," she purred dangerously, her red optics drooping down as she lowered her bottom derma plate. Her delicately shaped fingers caressed the strong looking mech's chin guard, and her seductive gaze grew gentler and softer as she looked at her lover for eternity with an endless amount of love. "How could I not? When we're _finally_ getting a sparkling of our own," she murmured, and she could feel the mech underneath her touch warming up once she sent a burst of love and desire through their spark bond. "Oh, I'm just so happy that I could just _ravage_ you right here, right now," she grinned broadly at him, displaying her exceptionally razor sharp teeth, triumph swelling up from within her spark once she felt him return the same burst of love and desire.

However, before Carousel could jump and give Cruiser the time of his life, the sound of someone venting out roughly and choking could be heard.

Almost immediately, the two Cybertronians snapped their heads to face their respective companions, and immediately both of them flushed brightly at the remembrance that they _had_ companions since they'd first stepped into the room.

Carousel, never one to delay, immediately composed herself, wearing a wide and always feral grin on her ruby colored lips. "Ah! Proxy, Gunner!" She addressed the two equally black and white mechs, the former removing his hand away from his mouth whilst the latter was still choking over something. "Sorray, almost forgot 'bout ya'll for ah minute 'ere," she admitted sheepishly, her lower class accent showing through her embarrassment as she scratched her flushed cheek plates.

Proxy merely shrugged, apathetic to everything, but there was certainly a reddish hue on the plating right underneath his red optics. "Already used to it, ma'am," he responded, though he _did_ stray his gaze towards the ground.

"USED TO IT?!" The other black and white mech, with a dark black chevron adorning his helm and a pair of standard enforcer painted doorwings on his back, roared, completely outraged by the very idea. "HOW CAN YOU BE SO USED TO THAT FEMME AND MY CAPTAIN ABOUT TO-TO-" The mech's faceplates blushed brightly as he then clamped his mouth shut.

Proxy merely shuttered his optics, looking even more apathetic than before if that was even possible. "Because I hear them doing it everyday," he bluntly deadpanned, much to Gunner's horror. "But it's only natural for two Cybertronians to interface with one another, since it is, after all, the best stress reliever no other activity can offer," he added.

Gunner merely looked at Proxy as if he'd seen an organic being.

Carousel merely grinned proudly at her assistant, hooking an arm around the smaller mech's neck joint as she pressed her cheek against his. "Hehehe," she giggled creepily. " _That's_ my Proxy. One of the most desensitized medics in _all_ of Cybertronian!" she boasted proudly.

"And most certainly one of the creepiest," Cruiser muttered quietly as he wrapped his large hand around his sparkmate's servo to tug her away from the smaller mech, not liking the way she pressed herself so close to another mech that wasn't him.

Judging by the sneaky and delighted expression on Carousel's faceplates, Cruiser knew that she had felt his envy burning brightly from within their bond. The large mech sighed, already preparing himself for the torture that would be wrought upon him until his sparkling's spark would be prepared to come out.

However, if there was something he should have remembered about Carousel, it was that she was one of the most sneakiest femmes in all of Praxus.

His bright blue optics widened in surprise when he felt something hook its way through the metal seams of his armor, gently tugging him down and bringing him closer to his sparkmate's faceplates until their olfactory sensors were nearly grazing against one another

Carousel, with her ruby red optics drooping down to give herself a particularly seductive expression that never failed to make his entire frame heat up from what he _knew_ would happen next, gave him a sly smirk that perfectly showed her dental canines (and Cruiser shivered, because he had _seen_ and _felt_ what those dentals could do when they were used for... _personal_ activities.) "Oh, sweetspark," she cooed, being extra sure to honey coat the words that slurred out of her vocal processors. "Aren't you a possessive mech? You do know that possessiveness isn't a particular," here, she paused, before lowering her bottom derma to emphasize the beautiful shade of its red. "Trait, that _good_ mechs have," she purred, her smile widening a bit. "And do you know what happens to _bad_ mechs, sweetspark?" she hummed, sending a burst of desire and an image of what she currently had in mine. "They get _punished_ ," she ended with a low growl as she pressed her vibrating chest against his, the revving engine in her chest sending him jolts of both surprise and pleasure.

"Please don't forget about us, ma'am," Proxy's bland tone broke the heavy and tense atmosphere in the room, and at the same time snapping the two lover's out of their lust-filled haze. The distinct echo of a mech trying to purge his energon tanks rang loudly in the room, and was serenely ignored by all. "And your newly-sparked sparkling as well," he added, his ruby red optics straying towards the moderately sized globe that spun wildly as it released a myriad of colors.

At the mention of their sparkling, the pair of spark mates immediately halted their ardor and snapped their attention back to Vector Sigma's glowing core that spiraled around its own axis.

All four Cybertronians from within the room watched with amazement adorning their faceplates as slowly, _ever so slowly_ , Vector Sigma began releasing the essences of life that the Allspark had sent to it from probably thousands of miles away, compressing every single wisp of life essence into a small, spherical shape that unstably wobbled as it slowly pushed itself out of Vector Sigma's very own protective casing.

Carousel and Cruiser watched in silence as the spark— _their_ spark—began wiggling its away out of Vector Sigma, trying its very hardest to get out of its cage, and they couldn't resist the urge to gap as the small sphere of life essence popped out of Vector Sigma, floating in mid-air unstably and, judging by the way it began floating around, it was most certainly searching for something.

Remembering the guidance that Praxus's head minister had told them, Cruiser hesitantly took a step forward with his spark mate's hand in his own, his other hand holding firmly onto the frame casing of their sparkling.

The little essence of life stilled, before it revolved around, then stopped. It bobbed up and down in the air for a couple of times, before it slowly glided towards the two, its curiosity having obviously been peeked. The little ball of life essence, not yet a spark but it _will_ be, moved towards Carousel, and the femme forced herself not to flinch as the small ball of life, that would be _their_ sparkling, bumped against her chest plates, as if asking for a request.

Without another word, Carousel mentally triggered the command that would silently open her chest plates. After a nano-klik, her dark painted chest plates shifted open, until her spark and spark casing had completely revealed itself to the ball of life essence. Feeling a little ashamed and embarrassed of her marred and scarred spark casing that displayed a dark red spark, the color of her spark showing the low caste level she had been sparked into since sparklinghood, Carousel lowered her gaze to the ground.

But it didn't seem as if the ball of life essence had been bothered by the taint that had already swallowed her spark—instead, it merely bumped against Carousel's marred and imperfect spark casing, asking for permission again— _Just like her sire would_ , Carousel thought, as she fondly smiled at the small ball of life essence that was waiting for her to open her spark casing.

Without a beat too soon, the little ball of life essence eagerly connected itself with Carousel, practically inhaling a small portion of Carousel's life essence to take into its own and recreate.

Carousel gasped at the immense feeling that washed over her, and she could feel the joints in her knees buckling from the sudden pressure of something entering from within her and taking an important piece of her. With one last gasp, her legs gave out, and she would have fallen to the floor if it wasn't for Cruiser wrapping his servo around her slim waist and gently lowering her to the ground so that she could support properly support herself.

And then, after what felt like forever, the little ball of essence leapt out from within the depths of Carousel's chest plates, carrying a light red hue to its coloring. Carousel vented out a sigh of relief, and she tiredly triggered the command to shift her chest plates close. "Fragging _finally_ ," she bemoaned, rolling her optics up to stare up at the ceiling to question why did spark resonating have to be so slagging _hard_. "Cruiser, sweetie, I think you might want to sit down for this one, it's fragging _tiring_ ," she slurred out, her vision blurring a little from the sudden amount of energy she had to use.

Slag it, she felt like Cruiser had literally fragged her into the ground like last time.

"I can handle it, Rou," Cruiser gently told her, caressing her cheek with his large hand, making the femme's dermas lift up into a tired yet loving smile. "You don't have to worry about me," he advised to her, making her roll her eyes at him.

"Pfft, as if," she scoffed loudly.

And one spark resonance between the sire and the soon to be spark after, Cruiser barely grunted out as the newly developed spark floated out of his chest, and he calmly sealed up his chest platings, covering up his once exposed spark that illuminated a dark bronze color. He intensely watched as _their_ new spark began revolving around itself, creating its very own spark casing from the resourceful elements that Vector Sigma oozed in order to help the little spark like it did with every other spark creation.

After he was pleased that their spark, glowing a beautiful shade of bronze with an aura of light red electricity surrounding it that would soon be compressed once the spark had overcome its first vorn in its sparkling frame, Cruiser turned to incline his helm downwards where his spark mate was looking up at him with an incredulous and bewildered expression on her face.

"That's captain for ya," Gunner interrupted, immediately breaking the heavy atmosphere in the room with his deep, baritone voice. "His stamina and vitality are _clearly_ unparalleled in Praxus's ED," he commented. "So it's expected he wouldn't even be tired from a spark resonance," he said, his voice full of amazement and awe for his superior.

However, right now, Cruiser had much more important things to do than thank his partner. "Well," he intelligently drawled, whilst he bent down to sit beside his spark mate, who instantly leaned against him and knocked her helm against his bulky upper servo. "That's all thanks to Carousel here, for all the things I had to work for to appease her," he said, silently adding, _and her never-ending lust_.

"Oh, _puh-lease_ ," Carousel scoffed again, rolling her ruby red optics. "Like _you_ didn't have the stamina of a demon before that rusty old mech revealed my true profession. You gave me one pit of a run through the Red Streets, almost broke the wiring in my servo because you _rammed me into a fragging house!_ " She complained, managing to summon enough energy to wave her hands in the air.

"In my defense," Cruiser smoothly started, having not noticed the spark of their sparkling bump against the chest plates of the blank sparkling chassis in his arms. " _You_ attacked me, first," he accused.

Carousel looked at him in the optics, her bright red optics blending with his dark yellow ones. "It's common courtesy for a femme to go first," she retorted. "I mean, what kind of mech attacks first? It's like pulling open a door for a femme, but going inside first then waiting on the other side," she continued. "Surely, you must know of chivalry," and then, Carousel launched into one of her famous femmenist speeches.

As the two newly fledged creators began ranting about with another, they failed to notice the little sparkling frame in its sire's servos begin to develop features of its own and shaping itself into a frame kind that would quell the desires that it had inherited from both of its creators and from its very own will. Once its frame remodeling had finished, the nanites began seeping through its frame, giving color and life to the sparkling's once dully colored frame.

Once the sparkling's entire frame had nanites working in ever nook and cranny of its tiny body, the sparkling's systems began setting it self up and its processors began integrating itself into the additional modules and systems that it had inherited via spark resonance from its creators.

And then finally, after a couple of kliks, the sparkling's optics lit up, a vibrant color illuminating through the transparent optic glass that had been over its sensitive optical neuros. The sparkling shuttered a few times, adjusting to the brilliant light that illuminated from above it, and it squirmed in discomfort and released a disgruntled chirp that spoke loudly of its irritation of the light.

Feeling something wiggling in his servos, Cruiser ripped his gaze off of his irritated sparkmate and glanced down at the empty sparkling frame that he held firmly in his—

Cruiser paused, shuttering his brilliant yellow optics a few times, before he narrowed them and stared closely at the sparkling frame that he still held firmly in his servos. However, there was something... _different_ about it. For starters, the metal against his servo was warm, as if the systems within the sparkling frame were online and regulating the standard heat that a sparkling would need in its most earliest stages of creation; second, the sparkling's chassis was no longer grey but a pearly shade of white with streaks of black and dark pink decorating its chest plates, servos, tibulens, pedes, and hip joints.

And lastly, the sparkling frame was _moving_.

As if having sensed the confusion and surprise from its sire's face, the sparkling pushed its helm from away its sire's chest, having used the large mech's chassis to shield itself from the brilliant light that nearly blinded its sensitive optics. Large and bright red optics surrounded by a few, short optical lashes shuttered in curiosity and interest at the golden optics that peered down at it, and, experimentally, the sparkling released a chirp as if to ask, _What?_

Cruiser stared down at the sparkling, not really knowing how to feel or react properly to a situation like this. Fortunately for him, he had spark bonded to a jubilee and incredibly social femme who would know what _exactly_ to do in a situation like this. Turning to face his spark mate that was looking at him with a mixture of anger for having turned away from her whilst she was in the middle of her rant, Cruiser brought up the newly rebooted sparkling, holding it up as if it was a peace offering to the enraged carrier.

"It onlined," Cruiser stated, his entire faceplates void of emotion as his processors were still processing the newfound information to a situation that he had never, in his entire life, experienced before.

"What?" Carousel shuttered her ruby red optics at her sparkmate, and promptly froze in surprise once she saw a fully _online_ sparkling blinking back at her with optics that were the of same color, hue and shade as her own. She stared blankly at the sparkling, her processors processing the newfound informations as well.

"Congratulations," a voice from behind her said, and she nearly jumped out of the metal seams of her armor, and whirled around to face the mech that had told her this. Carousel blinked, staring right up at Proxy who stared down at her, their red optics clashing with one another. And then, much to her surprise, Carousel watched as a smile, a small one but still a true and genuine smile from the usually stoic mech, appear on his dermas. "You're a legal creator now, ma'am," he said, his voice filled with warmth and happiness _for her_.

Carousel processed the image of Proxy smiling at her, making sure to file _that_ particular image to where she usually placed her most precious of memories, which, for you information, was very little up until she met her sparkmate. Then, after a nano-klik, she immediately recomposed her unnatural composure and returned the smile with one of her own. Full of love, warmth, and happiness, and totally unlike the usual haughty and wild grins that she would usually give. "I...Thank you, Proxy," she spoke, saying it softly and with plenty of gratitude for giving her both a smile and a congratulations, because _frag it,_ _she did it!_ She and Cruiser had managed to finally make a sparkling of their own, and she felt so, _so,_ slagging happy about it.

Carousel turned to face her spark mate, only to find that a fretting Gunner was waving his hands in front of his captain's face to break him out of the stunned stupor his systems had been forced into from the sudden onslaught of ideas of _what to do_ when you get your own sparkling. The darkly colored femme vented out in exasperation, but nonetheless there was a fond smile on her face as she gazed lovingly at her most beloved.

 _And now_ , she thought, looking back at Proxy and the small sparkling that stayed obediently from within her spark mate's hands. _My family's much bigger than before_ , she ended as she tentatively reached her servos out, her hands hovering right in front of the new sparkling's faceplates.

"Come to carrier now, sweetie," she cooed at the little sparkling that focused its intense gaze on the delicate fingers that were right in front of it. "Hehe, you have your sire's gaze you know," Carousel murmured sweetly as she gently tucked her hands underneath the sparkling's tiny servo pits, being extra careful to pull it out of her spark mate's grasp, slightly worried that she might drop _their_ sparkling.

 _Frag, that felt so good to say_ , Carousel thought as she pulled their sparkling closer to her chest plates. Setting the sparkling in her arms without the risk of any sign of discomfort, Carousel gazed down at the creation she helped create, and felt pride and love bloom from within the depths of her spark once her optics connected with optics of the same kind. "But you have your carrier's optics," she murmured softly as she supported the sparkling on one servo so that she could use the other to trail her fingers down the sparkling's smooth faceplates.

"There's no mistaking it," Carousel cooed as she leaned her faceplates closer to her sparkling. "You _definitely_ are a femme, just like carrier," she cooed happily. "Which means sire has to pay carrier six hundred shanix and fifteen credits now~" she added, a dangerous glint appearing in her sharp red optics

The little femme sparkling stared up at her, her large cardinal colored optics shuttering at the sight of her carrier's rather scary grin. Looking interested at the weird yet curios expression, the little femme tried copying it, her small dermas lifting up into a twitchy smile that exposed all of her dentals that might grow to be either as sharp as her carrier's or as straight as her sire's.

Just as the femme sparkling beamed at her carrier with the same smile, Gunner had been successful in snapping his senior officer out of his stunned surprise. Cruiser lurched forward from the impact of someone harshly banging their fist against his back, and he grunted from the pain that he experienced from a certain part of his back armor that would _surely_ dent.

"What?" Cruiser barked at Gunner, who had turned his faceplates to stare at the carrier and sparkling right in front of him. "...Gunner?" He asked again, much louder this time, and was slightly appeased to receive a response.

"C-C-Captain," he shakily said, raising his left servo to point at his spark mate and sparkling with a trembling index finger.

The newly fledged sire stared blankly at the lower ranking enforcer in front of him, not knowing what to do for a moment, before he followed his gaze to where his assistant was pointing at. Once his smoldering golden gaze landed on his spark mate and sparkling, the color in his faceplates nearly drained out as he stared with an expression on his faceplates that could have passed off as a perfect combination of pure dread and terror.

The mere sight of his sparkmate and sparkling smiling evilly at each other was enough to make Cruiser shudder deeply, his entire frame rattling from the intensity of his shudder.

"Dear Primus," the large mech breathed out. " _Why_ did it have to be a femme?" Even though he knew that it wouldn't make a single difference if their sparkling was a mechling or a femmeling—because eventually, Carousel would corrupt their processors in the end like the bewitching she-glitch that she had been sparked into—Cruiser couldn't help but sulk about _why_ did it really have to be a femme. If their sparkling had been a mech, then that would give him enough time to teach the little one about the moral ethics that society would frown upon.

But, alas, Primus had blessed them with a tiny femmeling, and who knows what _their_ femmeling would be like in the future, what with a carrier like Carousel, and Cruiser knew very well about the golden rule that every femme held sacred to their sparks.

 _Femmes stick together_.

He shuddered again, and resisted the urge to flinch in fear as the carrier and sparkling turned to face him with wide grins on their dermas, their ruby red optics gleaming in what looked like a predacious way to him.

 _Dear Primus_ , he prayed once again. _I fear for the future_.

 **ROUGE**

When the last femme Praxian in all of Cybertron had been sparked, she had been blessed with two very loving creators that belonged from two very different worlds. Since the fifth orn after she had been sparked, the little Praxian femmeling knew that her creators's relationship had been heavily frowned upon by society itself—because who would ever wave off the unity between an H-class mech and a P-class femme as if it was an everyday thing?—but eventually, the hushed talking from their surrounding Praxians had stopped, and it was all because of the excellency of her creator's professions that had greatly contributed to both Praxus and Kaon in the past.

Her sire, Cruiser, was very strict yet gentle with her. She had learned early on in her life that her sire was an enforcer, and had already worked his way up to the ranks until he was in a position that only the commanding officer of the entire Praxian Enforcer Department could command him. To the little femme Praxian, her sire was a very large mech, and there was never a day when she would look up at him in awe for his strong and tall stature, wondering if she could ever be as strong as him.

Her carrier, Carousel, was very loving with her, showering her with nothing but endless love and warmth that coursed vividly through the familial bond that they shared. She learned, through her older brother, that her carrier had been a pleasure spy—a term that she had been very interested with, but had been denied the meaning from _both_ her sire and carrier, and had only learned when a passing acquaintance had told her when she had entered her youngling frame. The little femme Praxian greatly admired her carrier, because she knew that there would be no other who could compare to her beauty or fierce personality.

And then there was Proxy, the older brother she had in everything but familial bond. He was a short and slim mech, even smaller than her own carrier but that was too be expected since her carrier was taller than the average femme. His paintjob was as boring as her sire's, but the two, brightly colored crosses on the smooth armor of his upper servo would never fail to catch her interest. She knew that he was a medic, he had told her so after all, and he had been the very one who had piqued her interest for the science of repairs. Proxy may have been a very stoic mech who had never flashed a single smile her way since she'd grown up, but the little femme Praxian had loved him to data bytes, much to the displeasure and ire of her sire who reluctantly allowed the sibling relationship.

At this time of the Golden Age of Cybertron, the little femme Praxian was still very small and she hadn't yet become the _only_ femme Praxian in all of Cybertron as it would happen in but a few decadevorns.

But for now, she was only sparkling—a sparkling who was loved dearly, cherished greatly, and protected fiercely. Her frame was still small and fragile, the entire chassis dyed in a pure white haze with black and dark pink lines going over her chest plates, servos, hip joints, tibulens and pedes. Her chevron was a deep ruby hue that gleamed brightly with a silver module in the very middle, and her tiny doorwinglets were white in color with a thick black line shooting across its middle, with a narrow dark pink line cutting straight through the black line.

The little femme Praxian was still a quiet and curious sparkling, with her untainted spark pulsing strongly.

The little femme Praxian had yet to be upgraded into her final, adult frame which would come in a very long time.

And for now, she would wear her spark designation with pride, because it had been what her carriers had decided once they'd seen her gleaming, bright red chevron and perky doorwings.

She was Cerise.

Cerise the sparkling.

Cerise the soon to be medic apprentice whose skills with the energon scalpel were unparalleled.

And Cerise, the soon to be _**Rouge**_.

 ***.*.*.***

As requested by the lovely, _lovely,_ Transformers HM who finally took mercy on me and requested a scene that I wanted to write as a prize XD

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 **Word Count:** _30,450_

 **Time of Finish:** _September 6, 2015 at 12.44 A.M._ _(See how much I love you little glitch heads?!)_

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 **Prizes of the Winners:**

 _Transformers HM, bless you girl, had requested a backstory of Rouge. Problem is, if I wrote Rouge's entire backstory, it'd be hella long and I decided to create a little backstory sections for her, hehe~ So, sorry girl if it isn't the whole thing but I'll be sure to continue it if someone else asks me to continue it ehehe~ I know, I'm cheating, but you never told me to write the whole thing so blllegh :P Gosh, I feel so mean haha. But don't worry~ If nobody has requested to continue it, I'd be sure to continue it...sometimes haha~_

 _Yami-The Lord of Darkness, yaaah, I'll be sure to do your request ;) And I love your reviews, no matter how short they are :) They're pretty great to me, and I love them lots, you know? Even something that short and small is motivation enough for a writer like me, and I won't push you to write longer :) Because I'll just have to write a chapter that would make you so gobsmacked that you'll HAVE to write a long review ahahahaha~!_

* * *

 **Winner(s) of this Chapter:**

 _Wow. For the first time, we only have ONE winner for this thing. And the winner is...THE GREAT AND FANTABULOUS FANDOM JUMPING EXPERT MWAHAHAHA. Congrats, girl hehehe. Hope you tell me your request soon ;)_

* * *

 **Question/Task of this Chapter:**

So...I've been toying with this idea for several times now, and I've already have several characters ready for this shit, but which canon character should I present first?

I mean, which canon character should I introduce RIGHT AFTER I introduce my surprise canon characters? :3

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 **Important or Annoying AN:**

So...I created a twitter account guys, yaaaay. But it's like a twitter account for this fanfiction account XD Choco was going all rage at me for creating a twitter account, since she doesn't approve of it. Look, I created a twitter account so that I could post funny things of this story of mine, where I'd be posting some SPOILERS of the next chapter, some funny tidbits of some line from chapters that have already been posted, and other crazy posts about Transformers.

If you've seen my page, then you'll see at my second post that I posted a picture of Windblade and Starscream from a scene from the latest Windablde comic book. To those that have read it, yes, I ship WindbladexStarscream—in fact, they're my _biggest_ male/female ship right now XD—and it's because of that hot, sticky tension that I can just SEE hanging in between them. Call me weird, but whatevs! They're KAWAII and HOT together ehehe, and have you seen the pictures of the two of them?! A popular artist on DeviantArt, Valong, is one of the best contributors of this ship's fan art.

To all you Starscream x Anybody else shippers, I don't really mind those ships. In fact, I see Starscream x Skyfire, Starscream x Steve, and Starscream x Alexis adorable, and Starscream x Trine, Stascream x Megatron, and Starscream x Optimus Prime sexy and hot haha

But...Windblade and Starscream though *drools*

My username: EriDrug


	7. Chapter 7

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairing(s) (for this chapter)** **:** _Venompoint/Domino_

 **Author's Note: **_Aloha, my dear readers! Sorry it took this long for me to update ahaha. I don't really have an excuse...aside from Pokemon. You see, my little sweet sparks, it was a very rainy day and the power was out. I was scavenging around my 'Drawers of Never Return,'_ — _I named it that because once I put something in it, I can never find it..._ — _and WA-LA! I found my ds with the Pokemon Soulsilver slotted into it. With no remorse of what my adventure before had been, I deleted the save file and started anew. I chose the female character (since during my Alpha sapphire adventures, I went as a boy. What can I say? Seeing May confess to me at the end was fragging adorable. I'm not lesbo, but I know an attractive girl when I see one ahaha.) and I totally ship her and Silver, my rival. I picked Totodile as my starter, named him Nico, then grinded my way til' he's a fully-pledged Feraligtr in the span of a day (what can I say? boredom's a bitch and like grinding my ass off.) So right now, I only have three badges, a level 35 Nico, a level 35 Hikaru (my male Ampharos), a level 35 Sora (my male Pidgeotto), a level 35 Aegis (my male Togetic) and a level 35 Lexus (my male Golbat.) As you can see, all my pokemon are male, because I'm gonna make my own personalized Poke-harem (that's what I call my team. Omg, I'm sick hahahahaha.). And right now, I'm trying to get that Primus-damn Dratini in the Goldenrod casino. I know, why are my Pokemon so high-leveled? Well, I remembered my defeat with Whitney and her stupid Milktank_ — _so, er, I kinda went overboard there, ne? At least I crushed her team with_ just _my Golbat. I swear I love my Golbat the most, because since it was a small, pathetic zubat, it kept giving me hearts when I talk to it and one time, when I talked to it, it gave me a rare candy. A. RARE. CANDY. Do you know how freaking rare that was? So, ugh, right now, I'm hooked on the game, but don't worry, I'm still writing because TA-DA! I UPDATED MWAHAHAHAHA._

 _ **Replies to My Lovely Reviewers**_ _ **:**_

 _ **Fandom Jumping Expert:** Hey there sista! Me? Familiar with Transformers Prime? GURL, I'VE WATCHED THE ENTIRE SERIES TWICE AND READ MORE FANFICS ABOUT THAT UNIVERSE—so, ehem, familiar with it? I practically share a bed with it ;). And the characters? Gurl, that's how Dreadwing and Skyquake and Predaking (oooh, momma, that's one sexy son a motherfragger ;) Second to Soundwave, of course, because NOBODY can beat him mwahahahaha.) were introduced to me, and just LOVED Soundwave's character design there ehehe. And Knockout? Sure, I can fulfill THAT little wish ehehehehe. In fact, I've already made a little scenario for him kufufufufu~ ;). And Prowl and Jazz? GURL OF COURSE THEY'RE TOGETHER! OF COURSE OF COURSE OF COURSE! THEY MAH OTP, AND I SHIP THEM SO HARD THAT THE TITANIC GOT NOTHING ON ME. Anyways, thanks for the review~ Love it ahaha, hope tah see ya again?  
 **TFSTARFIRE:** Well, well, well, it's nice to see you again :') And I smiled when you said that you liked the Rouge backstory, if you want a continuation, just tell me, cause I've got it allll written up mwahahaha. And you're fourth baby? Congratulations:) Hope you have a safe delivery~ And I pray that all will be well for the this year and the next~ Take care of yourself as well ok? And if you need to vent out your stress here, I don't really mind ahaha~ I may be a writer, but I'm also human, and I want to lend a shoulder to anybody who needs it haha~ So, PM me, cause that's more private, if you wanna tell me something that'll keep the weight off your shoulders or if you just wanna chat~ I already have everyday conversation with three others, and a healthy one with one other ahaha~ Anyways, hope to see you soon :)  
 **Yami-The Lord of Darkness:** Well, truth to be told, it'll be nigh impossible to introduce Jazz first right now haha, considering that he's light years away with the main Autobot team, whereas Meg is on Cybertron the the Neutrals haha~ But don't worry, I'll easily fill in your disappointment for not having Jazz introduced first~ Don't worry ;P  
 **SunnySides:** BLITZWING?! Girl! I haven't thought of him yet...hmmm, he might not be the first one, but he's a potential one ahaha~ But it'll be kinda tricky, since he's a 'con and all, and all 'bots and 'cons have left Cybertron...I think? Well, it'll be up to my hands and brain to decide what to do with that little plot bunny ahaha~ Anyways, thanks for the review hehe~ ;) Hope to see ya again fellow Jazz lover *salutes*  
 **THM:** You can't make small reviews anymore 'cause I've been sending sound waves into your brain to manipulate you into writing longer, mwahahaha. Jk-ing...or ami I? :D Anywhooo~ Crashthrough? Breakdown? You're shitting me right? Hahaha, well, congrats, I guess? For, like, getting it spot on! And there's a reason why he's so scaredypants here haha. It's in his character, to be honest, if you've watched the G1 version and read the comics_— _but, BD is a paranoid mech, who thinks that everything is after him to kill him. He's not the Prime Breakdown that we all know and love and cherish and adore and so ship with KO, but, he will be soon, but since we're on Cybertron, and the war had just started (kind of.) he's not as badass or confident as the BD that we all know and love, ne? And I'm glad you loved the Rouge background story ehehe~ I already have some parts of it done, all I need to do is piece it together then wa-la! It's kompleto ehehe~ And i'm glad that I'm your writer in shinning armor, wouldn't want others to rescue you now, do I? Haha, I'm such a greedy and selfish writer, but ya love me right? 030 AND ULTRON? GIRL, ULTRON?! IFKR, WHEN I SAW HIM, I STARTED GETTING HOT AND BOTHERED BECAUSE DAAAAAAAMN, DID YOU SEE THEM PECS? THEM ABS? THEM FUCKING HIPS?! I didn't find his hollow cheeks attractive, but meh, he still cute ahaha. And I almost fanqueened myself to death when I heard his VOICE! His honest to God VOICE! KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_ — _  
_

 **PS.** Hi, Choco here, to whoever is reading this right now, my little kohai is running around outside of my apartment, but don't worry, she asked me to write this little note to tell you guys that she's alright and she's just having the time of her life fangirling herself to death. So...anybody want a digital pocky stick? I have lots of them :D

* * *

 **Cybertron's Units of Time:**

Astrosecond: .498 Earth second  
Nano-klik: 1 Earth second (I don't normally use this though...)  
Klik: 1.2 Earth minutes  
Breem: 8.3 Earth minutes.  
Groon: 1 Earth hour  
Cycle: 1.25 Earth hours  
Joor: 8 Earth Hours  
Solar Cycle: 1 Earth day  
Orn: 13 Earth days  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar Cycle: 7.5 Earth months  
Meta-Cycle: 13 Earth months.  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7**

 _ **In Which I Mourn**_

* * *

I stared at the little creature's green optics, my own orange ones having been narrowed into a suspicious look that matched the displeased frown on my pink dermas. The little creature's spindly tale swung from side to side, occasionally stopping for but a moment to bristle threateningly at me, to which I responded with a vicious flare of my shoulder armor.

The silver plated zap-mouse crouched down on its minuscule paws with claws that were much suited to cats from my home planet.

 _Like Abyss_ , a haunting voice quietly whispered to me from within the darkest depths of my processors, and I answered to it by squashing it down and grinding its black entrails into the surface of my mind, savoring the triumph that I felt as I imagined it screaming at me with a voice filled to the brim with pain and agony. It was nothing but an idea, so I'd treat it like one.

"Okay, look," I started, and creeped back a bit when the zap-mouse's hide sparked with jolts of green electricity. I stared at the zap-mouse with a mix of fear and disgust, a look that I'd throw at cockroaches and the occasional cheerleader boasting about getting laid by some college dude. "I've used every trick I know on how to catch pests like _you_ ," I emphasized with a loud hiss, and the zap-mouse bristled again as it squeaked indignantly to my cruel description of it. "And I only have one option left, and I bet it'll benefit the both of us greatly," I said, and it seemed like the zap-moue understood because its metal ears perked up.

I brought out my left-over energon cube from one of my subspace pockets—which, I learned soon enough, was one of the greatest inventions known to Cybertron. Because _seriously_ , I could fit an entire shelf of books into it without having to worry about the excess weight I'd have to carry or if the large item would even fit, because subspace pockets had been designed to carry items, and the weight limit of the subspace pockets depended on the Transformer's consumption of energon. Rouge and Vitallium had found out that my subspace pockets consumed only a partial amount of my share of energon, but they had extremely stressed that I shouldn't be too excited to start stuffing berths after berths into my subspace pockets, because the heavier the item within my subspace pockets then the larger my subspace pockets would consume their share of energon.

"This, my friend, will be all yours," I told him, gesturing to the solid energon cube with only a quarter of its original size left. The zap-mouse's green optics glittered greedily, and it slowly scuttled closer to me, its claws twitching to reach out for the glowing substance of life that was just _this_ close to its faceplates. "If you just skedaddle out of my room and _swear_ to never come back," I instructed to it, but its green optics just glittered hungrily, its processor having lost itself in a trance of energon cubes after energon cubes.

I vented out deeply, before I pushed myself off of the ground and rose to my pedes, being extra sure to do it slowly so as to not startle the zap-mouse back into hiding _again_. I backed away towards the door, my heel struts making me wobble a bit from their impressive height, but I managed to back out of my room with the quarter-sized energon cube within the clutches of my left hand. Once I was satisfied enough with the distance between me and my room, I placed the energon cube on the ground.

Taking a few steps away from the energon cube, I patiently waited. A few minutes later, the zap-mouse emerged from my room, its tiny claw-like appendages twitching as it pattered against the cool ground. It's nose twitched, the thin wires attached to it quivering a little, and it scampered off to the energon cube. Once it took a little bite from the solid energon cube, I took action.

Shooting past the zap-mouse, I zoomed into the safety of my room, then slammed my hand into the digital, wall pad that controlled the functions of the door. I stuck my tongue out at the zap-mouse, who was oblivious to everything as it enjoyed its meal, as I chanted mockingly before the door fully closed. "Sayonara, mutated Pikachu!"

Once the door slammed shut, darkness engulfed the whole room, the orange glow that my optics gave off was the only thing that illuminated my path as I struggled to find the light switch.

My index finger bumped into something attached to the wall, and I flicked it. Light suddenly bursted within the room, and I shuttered my optics a few times to get used to it. I scanned my room, taking in the hard work that I had poured into cleaning it until every single spot _gleamed._ I planted my aft on the berth, admiring the soft mattress on top of it now that it wasn't covered with dust bunnies. I sighed softly, before I laid myself onto the berth, squirming a bit until I found a comfortable position.

Laying on my front, I placed my helm on the top of my crossed servos, looking at the berth frame with sleepy interest.

And then, after having registered the activities that I'd done today and the progress I'd accomplished with the other Cybertronians, I closed my optics, allowing sleep to wrap itself around my processors.

However, before I could successfully slip into a peaceful recharge, my audio sensors strained themselves once I heard a scratching sound from somewhere nearby. Drowsily opening on my optics, I looked up at what was supposed to be a metal shelf with nothing occupying it.

Nothing expect a small, fragging Pit-spawned zap-mouse.

 _Squeak!_ The little critter cried, the very edges of its mouth stained with purplish pink stains.

I groaned, stuffing my faceplates into the crook of my elbow, wondering why the fuck was it so hard to get rid of _one goddamn rat!_

* * *

I had drastically changed my daily routine the solar cycle after my shameful defeat from Venompoint, as well as after I'd realized that there were a few physical changes that I wasn't so familiar with (aside from the whole, omg, I'm a giant metal alien that can transform into cars and stuff, yay, shoot me now.). For starters, compared to my human body, it had seemed like my Cybertronian body wasn't as flexible or strong as it had been before. Sure, the muscle memory was still there, because I could still throw punches and kicks—however, there was just something... _different_ , per se, about my movements.

Foremost, I wasn't as flexible as I'd been before—the muscles within my inner thighs would start screaming when I stretched it further, and I couldn't do a goddamn _split_ anymore. My strength seemed to have diminised as well—because I could no longer perform my regular set of push-ups, only reaching up to a quarter before I would fall to the ground, panting for all I was worth. And my stamina was worse, because I could only run two laps around my Neutrals' territory without feeling like an old, aesthetic-drunken girl afterwards now; before, when I'd been human, estimating the large circle that I had run, I could run _ten laps_ , and only feeling out of breath when I had finished my fifteenth one. And my _speed_ , the one thing that I was so so fucking proud of, since that was the only thing I could boast about compared to my older brothers' strength, was now nothing more than the speed of an _amateur_.

It made me feel bitter—because where was all the hard work that I had invested blood, sweat, and time on? Had everything—the sun-less mornings, the late nights, the sprains and bruises, and so much _more_ —been just a waste of my time? Had _**all this**_ just been wasted?

This only solidified my opinion that Primus was one fucking hell of a ass that _really_ needed to get the beating of his lifetime. Because what _right_ did he have to take away all of my hard work? He _didn't_ , and he never had the right to do such a thing. Does he even know just how long it'd take for me to get back to my original state? The time that I'd have to spend in working to get my strength and speed and flexibility and stamina back? The blood and sweat and pain that I'd have to endure through?

Of course he didn't—after all, this was _my_ body. It was my responsibility. So what viable reason did he have to think about that?

My anger for Primus only boosted my determination to beat the motherfucking shit out of him into the ground—but first, to beat another into the ground, one must beat themselves into the ground first, and I proceeded to do just that.

* * *

Rouge had gotten mad at me, _again_. It hadn't been an uncommon occurrence for the turquoise-painted femme to rage at me whenever I came into her medbay with a limp in my step and a twisted joint in either my wrist or ankle or maybe even both, but that was only on some days when I had bravely and stupidly decided that I could push myself a little more.

It had been a little more than two orns since I'd come to Cybertron. An orn was thirteen Earth days, so it'd been twenty six plus five Earth days since I'd arrived, which meant that I'd disappeared off of the face of Earth for a whole month.

They say as time passed by, the pain would eventually subside until all you could feel was a numb sensation that filled the very pits of your gut that made you feel colder and emptier than usual. They were wrong, in my case, because the pain only got _worse_ and I had begun to recall every single bit of memory that I could remember that I had spent as a human.

The memories of my past bullies no longer affected me, but the memories of my loved ones stung my very core and made the foreign object within my chest thrum with a melancholic aura that made me feel lonely and sad.

If I had been right with my assumption that Primus had sent me to the past, where the war had _just_ been moved to another planet that the Autobots and Decepticons would soon destroy, then that would mean that I was currently within a point of time that was _millions_ of years before the Autobots and Decepticons would come to Earth, which meant that I had _time_. Time that I did not know how to spend.

Finding a way to get back to Earth was definitely on the very top of my list—because, giant alien robot or not, Earth was my _home_. Earth had my _family_ , that was where mom and Eric and Nico were at, and that was the only place that I wanted to be _at_. However, if I _was_ right with the whole Primus had sent me to the past, then that would mean that there wasn't an Earth _now_ but there will certainly be one _then_.

Which meant that I had to wait.

Which meant that there was _more_ time for me to spend.

Which only made the pain within me throb harder.

I really wanted to cry. Really, I _do_ , but what would crying do to help me? Well, aside from venting out my current frustrations and anger at how fucking unfair the world and Primus was, there wasn't really anything else that crying helped with. It was a pointless action that only made me paranoid (well, more paranoid than I was now.) and the cost of crying was wasting time that I could be using for something much more important.

Plus, it wouldn't a very advisable option to choose when I had an irate Rouge currently screaming her pretty little helm off at me.

"OF ALL THE FRAGGING STUPID THINGS THAT YOU COULD DO!" The rep-opticed femme began out loudly after she had paused to take a deep breath of air that wasn't really needed but only emphasized how angry she was with me. "WHY THE SLAG DID YOU EVEN PERFORM A HANDSTAND IF YOU COULDN'T EVEN DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?!" She growled, baring her sharp dentals at me, and I shrunk a bit, allowing my shoulder armor to flare out a bit to show how apologetic I was with my mistake.

Technically, I _could_ do a handstand, without my servos wobbling for half a second, after strenous days of nothing but sprints, two-handed push ups, and sit-ups. However, I couldn't do a hand-stand push-up. The reason for why I even thought of doing a few push-ups even though my servos trembled after only thirty second of me being in a simple hand-stand, was only because I was curious of my progress.

And I had paid that curiosity with nothing but a twisted joint in my right wrist.

I flared my energy field out a little bit, reaching out to brush against the very edges of Rouge's energy field, which had gone tense and static-like in form from the aggression and anger that flowed through her energon. The foreign object within me pulsed, helping me send bursts and jolts of apologies and regret through the temporary connection of our energy fields.

 _Sorry_ , I honestly conveyed, allowing the armor on my shoulder to rattle a bit as I widened my optics a little to make the orange globes seem bigger and wider than usual with a sheen of unshedded tears that weren't really tears. _I didn't meant to_ , I mentally told her, pressing my dermas together.

If anybody was going to ask— _no_ , I most certainly _was not_ performing the puppy dog eyes.

I was doing the kitty cat eyes, the one that I'd taught Abyss whenever she wanted a few treats from my mom.

Rouge continued glaring fiercely at me, smoke coming out from her nostrils, looking undeniable and determined to glare me to death.

I flared my shoulder armor a little faster, making it look like they were trembling.

Rouge shifted her optics to the side, her glare wavering for a bit, before she recomposed herself and continued to glare at me with sharp, red optics that I'd mostly seen on the faceplates of Decepticons since my early childhood.

I shuttered my optics, then widened them as much as I could.

Rouge's optics softened, and her formerly tensed shoulders slumped down a bit, but it didn't seem like she was going to cave in any minute sooner.

Time to bring out the trump card.

I delved a little bit further into Rouge's EM field, pouring as much strong emotions of regret and shame that I could muster. I began twiddling with my fingers at the very moment I looked down to stare at my lap, the armor protecting my shoulder having deflated down to settle harmlessly over the outer, protective plating of my upper servos.

Rule number one, if the kitty cat eyes do not work, go to plan B: Start looking like an adorable little animal that had just been kicked out of their warm home and into the cold and miserable streets with rain dramatically pouring down.

Rouge didn't stand a single chance. She caved at the exact same klik that the tips of the antennas on the side of my helm had drooped down—which, honestly enough, I had just learned how to do _now_. Wow, you really _do_ learn something new everyday. Yay, go me!

I heard the turquoise-painted femme sigh wearily, and I nearly jumped in relief and joy when her energy field responded by wrapping around mine in a warm cocoon of acceptance and forgiveness, and sending me bursts of _don't do that again, or else_ , like all the other times that she'd forgiven me for my stupidity and stubbornness. I lifted my chin to look up at her, my orange orbs clashing with hers, and patiently waited for her to start the conversation.

When engaging conversation with Rouge after a healthy rage-filled lecture or beating from said apprentice medic, one must _never_ utter the first word. _Ever_. Or one would suddenly find themselves in _another_ healthy rage-filled lecture or beating with the added bonus of getting an energon scalpel to the thigh.

Look at Crashthrough, for example. He spoke first before Rouge could collect her thoughts and calm herself down, and the mere _sound_ of his voice had irritated her once again and she had not so accidentally stabbed an energon scalpel into his thigh to shut him up.

The apprentice medic was scary when she _really_ wanted to be. The more scarier part was that she wasn't even _afraid_ to hurt anybody, because she _knew_ that she could always repair them back to health.

"Show me your wrist," Rouge demanded sharply, despite her EM field cocooning me in a blanket of warmth and forgiveness. I obliged, showing my damaged wrist to her. There were a few wires, all of which a different color, sticking out from underneath the protective paneling of my armor; the way my hand dangled seemed agonizingly wrong, and my pain receptors kept sending me bursts of pain that stung but were easy enough to suppress. Rouge held my lower servo in a firm yet gentle grip. The turquoise-painted femme reformatted her other hand into a pair of tweezers that pointed sharply towards the tips. "Turn your pain receptors off," she told me, and I did so, having learnt this from Vitallium two orns ago when I had received my first injury.

I could feel the distinct sound of a ping from the back of my processors, but there wasn't a single notification box that popped up in my vision, because that'd only happen when I had my face guard on. I automatically answered with a mental _yes_ , and I could feel the distinct lack of simply _feeling_. Everything felt numb, I couldn't feel my optical lashes brushing against the very edges of my cheek as I shuttered, and I could no longer feel the cold breeze that wafted within the medbay icing my frame.

I watched as Rouge began her ministrations. The apprentice medic unlocked the clasps that held my wrist armor together, and she flipped it open, revealing the stark, silvery image of my protoform. I winced when I felt a jolt of pain travel up my spine once Rouge began poking the wrist joint of my protoform. The protoform was the most sensitive part of a Transformer's body, so it wouldn't be uncommon to feel at least a twinge of pain even if the pain receptors had been turned off. I watched as her hand reformatted into a screwdriver, and I closed my optics when she inserted it into the bolt of the joint and began screwing it tightly.

The pain immediately washed over the entirety of my senses, despite the pain receptors having been turned off, but it was tolerable enough for me to endure through it with only the grinding of my dentals as a sign of my pain.

After a few kliks of screwing and checking if the wires underneath the seams of my protoform were uncoiled and my energon tubes hadn't been clamped down from the pressure of my wrist joint twisting wrongly, Rouge _finally_ flipped the armor protecting my wrist shut and reformatted her hand back.

"There," Rouge heaved loudly as she moved away from me. "Slagging all fixed up. Now, could you tell me what the frag made you think of twisting your wrist joint _again_?" She asked, sassily raising an optical ridge at me as she crossed her servos together and began leaning on one side.

I turned on my pain receptors, and inspected the dull throbbing from my wrist, and immediately flickered my gaze towards it. I tilted my helm to the side a little, flipping my wrist over and over again to inspect it. I began bending it, to test how durable it was now, and was only awarded with a dull throb of pain that barely registered in my processors. "Thank you," I murmured softly, earnestly, gratefully— _a memory flashed through my processor, the image of my mother appearing within it, as she reprimanded me for being as careless as my brothers as she bandaged me up from one of the many wounds that I'd receive as a child_ —and I trailed my fingers across the repaired wrist, marveling at the sight of healing at its finest.

Once, there had been a time when I had wanted to be like mom. Once, I had wanted to be a doctor like her, to help people like her, to be thanked like her, to be smiled at like her. Once, I had been like Nico, who simply wanted to _fix things_ , to _help people_ , and to _simply_ _heal_. But then, I grew up, realized that my hands weren't made to heal like mom's and Nico's were, and that my hands had been created to _hurt_ , because that's what I had been doing the entirety of my life, hurting people who'd hurt me, dragging them down as they'd dragged me down, and belittling their lives as they'd belittled mine.

I couldn't be a doctor nor a medic—I had hurt too much and so much that I was _scared_ of what I'd do to an injured person that wasn't a part of my loved ones. However, my compassion to help people was _still there_ ; thus, I wanted to become someone like my father and Eric, someone that would hurt the people that could hurt my loved ones. I'd changed my dream from a doctor to a soldier, from a healer to a hurter, from a sheep to a wolf in sheep's clothing.

And yet, somewhere between wanting to become a doctor and a soldier, I'd wanted to become something... _more_. I'd wanted to become something that only _I_ could become, something that neither my parents nor siblings could become, something that I'd worked so hard for and poured every last drop of inspiration and love into. I had wanted to become a _dancer_ , having been inspired by several of my dancing instructors that my mom had hired to tutor me with other little girls. I hadn't been the best dancer, because I tended to forget a few steps, but I had been one of the best to perform, swinging gracefully and angling sharply, making my dancing peers stare up at me in admiration.

I had loved the way they looked at me, adoration shinning in their eyes, and when I was done, they would clap and cheer for me, praising me. I had loved their praises, love seeing them smile, loved how their eyes sparkled when they saw me dance. I had loved how they looked at me with stares that were so different from those of my schoolmates. I had wanted to become a dancer, to selfishly keep those smiles for my own, and make kids happy and feel appreciated as well like how I had.

Only for it to be ripped away from me when I'd made my choice to become a soldier, after dad had died and left me and mom and Eric and Nico to pick up the pieces of what _could_ have been his future with us.

"Hey," Rouge brought me back to reality by placing a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay, Galactica?" She asked me, her optical ridges furrowing down to create a concerning crease in between her red optics.

I nodded quietly, the images of my family, of my friends, of my dreams passing through my processor. "Of course I am," I responded, not having enough energy to even muster a fake smile to reassure her worry. "I was just thinking," I elaborated, as if that answer was complete enough.

"Thinking..." Rouge said softly, understanding having dawned itself upon her beautiful faceplates, before the hand on my shoulder tightened into a firm grip. "Was it about something important?" She asked me, in a voice that was impossibly softer than it had been just a nano-klik ago.

I swallowed the lump that had accumulated in my throat, the sensors in glossa registering the sweetly metallic taste of the energon I had about a joor ago. "Always," I answered. "It's always important," I explained thoroughly, before a smile that was bitter and _not all there_ appeared on my dermas. "Anyways, thanks a bunch, Rouge, but I have some things to be doing," I said as I leapt off of the medical berth, giving her a warm smile that wasn't all that fake or forced, and sending her one last burst of gratefulness through our merged energy fields before I destroyed the temporary connection between us as I retreated my EM field back within the safe premises of my frame.

"Bye," I murmured softly as I left the medbay, feeling a wave of guilt and sadness engulf me when Rouge responded back with concern. I felt that it was rude and mean of me to leave her there, without a single companion to keep her company in her quiet medbay; however, I needed time to be alone, time to gather my dark thoughts and lock them up in the worst parts of my brain, the parts where whispers of doubt and self-loathing lingered and commonly trickled out to haunt me in my dreams, and most importantly, time to _think_.

I sighed as I walked towards the direction of my house, knowing that I was going to waste even more time.

* * *

Contrary to what I had formerly believed in, I didn't march straight towards my room to sulk and probably scream into my arm about how life was unfair and how much of a dick Primus was. No, in fact, I marched straight towards the rotting Cybertronian corpse that had only haunted my recharge cycles twice.

It appeared the same as it had been the last time that I'd seen it. It's entire chassis remained a deathly grey color without a single area of color that hinted of what the mech's paintjob had been before. Vitallium had told me at one point about the reason for why a Cybertronian's body lost all of its color once they deactivated; he said it was because the color nanites embedded within the Cybertronian's chassis were connected to the spark, and once the spark had snuffed out, the nanites ceased working and eventually shut off, which explains why a Cybertronian's chassis would drain itself off color once they die.

I sat down in front of the Cybertronian's corpse, feeling uneasiness pool within the depths of my gut as I stared straight into its dark and abyss-like optics that were as black as night. I didn't do anything at first, merely taking note of the red and black wires that stuck out from the gruesome hole in its right cheek, and the lack of metal skin on its left one. Its dermas were parted widely, and I finally noticed that its jaw seem to have been unhinged, making me wince as I imagined how painful that could have been. The Cybertronian had sharp dentals, like Venompoint, and they gleamed threateningly once the light from the lamp post a few feet away from us flickered brightly for a moment.

"You're one ugly motherfucker, you know that right?" I started, feeling a bit awkward and embarrassed that I had started resorting to talking to a _dead_ person. But hey, a person was still a person, and them being dead only made it better for my part. The dead stayed silent, and they wouldn't start complaining once I'd started my rant. "But that's to best expected, considering _who_ mauled you," I said, smiling a bit bitterly at the corpse.

"..." The dead Cybertron responded with silence, and I snorted, because that was to be expected.

"I don't know why I'm even talking to you," I grumbled, my optics flickering to look at its chest, which had been ripped open to reveal its empty and hollow spark casing within the black protective shell of what had once been a protoform. "I mean, there are always better people to talk to. Heck, your killer would be a better option, but I don't want to talk to him right now," I continued. "Because Venompoint's one hell of a douche, and I wouldn't want a douche to be listening to my innermost and darkest thoughts," I admitted with a grimace. "And, to be honest, I'm weirded out by him right now. He doesn't glare at me as much as he does before, but he doesn't talk to me anymore either. He just...stares at me blankly when I look at him...I guess that I stare at him blankly as well, but he could have said something to me as well, you know!" I complained. "I mean, I said hi to him the other day, and he just _ignored_ me!" I raged. "I know that we're not friends or shit, but the least he could do was fucking _nod_ at me right?"

"..."

I imagined that the Cybertronian was nodding understandingly at me, and I mentally questioned my sanity. "Well, douchebag aside, but that's not the only thing that's bothering me these days," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and I pursed my lips in an irritated and sad manner. "...I still miss them, you know? My family I mean," I murmured, gripping my servos tightly. "After I wake up, before I go to sleep, and even between that, they're always in my head," I continued, the armor protecting my shoulders flaring largely to the internal turmoil happening within me. "I can't remember an hour where I _don't_ remember them at all," I said with a bitter chortle. "And I...I don't have anybody to talk to about it," I admitted quietly. "I know I can tell Rouge or Vitallium or Domino—but...but I don't trust them just _yet_ ," I continued, wrapping my servos around my torso in a mock embrace. "Rouge scares me sometimes, and it's because of her stupid optics you know? I _know_ she isn't a Decepticon, but...sometimes, she acts like one..." I murmured softly. "I know that she beats Crashthrough or Domino whenever they do something stupid and get hurt but...does she always have to have that scary look in optics whenever she does so?" I murmured quietly.

"And Domino...he's just as worse, if not worse, than Rouge is, you know?" I said with a shudder as I tightened my hold. "Whenever I see him in the medbay with an injury, I see him doing...stuff to himself," I murmured. "When he thinks that nobody is looking, he digs his fingers into his wounds and just _digs_ ," I shuddered. "He doesn't even look like he's in pain; the scariest part of it is that he always does it while _smiling_! It's like he enjoys getting hurt!" I stuffed my faceplates into my hands, shuddering deeply when images of Domino sitting on the medical berth with a finger wedged deeply within the tear in his armor flashed in my processor.

"And then there's Crashthrough..." I trailed off. "He...He's hiding something, I just know it. My—this thing in my chest always hurts whenever I see him, and whenever he smiles—!" I choked, cutting myself off as I vented out deeply. "It...It just feels so fucking _wrong_ ," I sighed. "I feel like there's something _missing_. Like there's one fucking big problem in his smile. Like he doesn't even have a _reason_ to smile; which makes it feel wrong for me, because when he smiles, it looks so happy and warm and so _so_ real! And yet...why do I always feel like there's something missing in his smile...?" I questioned to no one.

"..."

"Look, I know that there's something wrong with me. But, to be honest, I've been a bit cuckoo and different in the head since Eric and Nico introduced me to Transformers, but there's just this... _feeling_ that I get around those three the most. I like them, sure, enough to even consider them potential friends that I would't mind getting poked by, but...there's just something wrong with them," I said with frown. "And don't even get me started on Venompoint, of all mechs. _Everything's_ wrong with that slagger. Aside from his paintjob, of course, because he's rocking that out."

"..."

"I _swear_ , the only normal one here is Vitallium, but even _he_ gets weird sometimes. Don't ask, because I can't tell _how_ he gets weird. He just does," I snapped, before venting out loudly at my insanity. How the fuck could this corpse ask me a question when it was dead? "Anyways, disturbing companions aside, I still miss my family," I said. "I know it's not unusual for someone to miss their family after having been ripped away from them," I paused here to look up and stare accusingly at the night sky, hoping against hope that Primus knew that i was directing this at him, before I turned back to face the offline Cybertronian. "But... I'm just _tired_ of being in pain, you know? I just want to go back to them already...I miss mom's hugs, her cooking, and heck, even her angry rants of paranoia. I miss Eric messing my hair up whenever he got home from work, the crude messages we'd send each other, and the crazy packages he'd send me," I said with a roll of my optics, remembering that one time he sent me a necklace with the head of a _real dead lizard_ strung into the thick cord. The scream that came out of my mouth had made Abyss jump two foot in the air, I swear. "I miss Nico's rants about his teachers, his stupid classmates, and this one chick who beat his ass into the ground. I miss Nico tackling me to the ground then spooning me to prevent me from escaping," I snorted at that one. "And I miss my friends a lot," I said with a smile. "I miss sleeping with Abyss and I miss the purrs she'd give me whenever I spoiled her. In fact, I just miss everything about her," I said, smiling happily as I reminisced about my furry companion.

"And don't even get me started on Ryan and Ciara," I said with a creepy giggle that sounded more of a witch's cackle. "I miss the fights we'd have, the wrestling matches we'd have, and the times we'd prank one another," I vented out with a fond smile. "I miss Ryan's sarcasm, the dirty little comments he'd sneak in, and his pessimism. I miss the times we'd just lay down and stare at my bedroom's ceiling—he and Ciara practically destroyed my ceiling, you know? Painted it in a bunch of colors that made it look like a rainbow vomited on it then agonizingly died there. I miss his hugs, his big arms wrapping around me and squeezing me tightly...I miss our cuddles," I laughed out loud, feeling warmth surge through me as I remembered those memories of happiness with Ryan.

"And I miss Ciara as much as I miss him too," I continued. "I miss our little manny-peddy sessions, reading pocket books with her, and those times we'd read hot yaoi stories," I admitted with a flush of red painting my cheeks. "I miss those fights we'd have over which character was hotter, over how Megatron could _so_ beat Optimus Prime anytime in a hottie competition," I laughed with a grin. "I miss those perverted jabs she'd make at me, those times we'd compare our boobs and butts to see whose was bigger, and those times we'd shared creating misery upon our schoolmates and teachers," I said with an evil grin.

"..."

"Friends are wonderful, you know?" I said with a fond smile. "Ryan and Ciara are friends that I'd give up everything for, just as much I'd give up for my family. I'd do anything to keep them all safe, even if it kills me, because I _know_ that they'd do the same for me, and because I would _never_ want anything bad to happen to them," I said, running my glossa over my bottom lip before I shakily inhaled a breath of air. "But it looks like I failed, huh?" I said with a wry smile as I wrung my hands. "Because now...now...I don't know if Primus killed them or not, or if they're alive or not...but I hope that they are," I said as I wrapped my servos around my torso once again. Flashes of Abyss laying motionless in my arms, of Ryan staring up at me with empty brown eyes, of that one last piercing scream before I myself drifted off only to be claimed by darkness, passed through my processor, and a strong shiver wracked itself upon my frame that made my dentals clang against one another that made my jaw throb with a pain that felt achingly sore.

"..."

I vented out deeply as the silence that hung over me began to register itself in my processor. I tried ignoring it, because if I did, then I could most likely ignore the dull pain that the foreign object within my chest throbbed with. I didn't know what this object within me was, I hadn't had a single clue, nor had I even asked the others about it, because I doubted that they had something like this and if I asked them then they might label me as more of an outsider than they, aside from Rouge, already have. All I know was that this foreign object within my chest _helped me_. It helped me stay calm, prevented me from getting myself killed or leaving a bad impression (aside from my past encounter with Venompoint.), and it kept me strong to this very day.

If this was Primus's way of saying that I wasn't alone, then he was doing a, _painfully admittingly_ , good job.

"...Thank you," I finally spoke up, after breems of silence. "Thank you," I repeated a little bit louder, grateful for the dead Cybertronian body's companionship. I bet that if it'd been alive, it wouldn't have been as patient or bearing as it was dead. I pushed myself off to my feet, brushing off the grains and smudges of dirt that stuck to the metal of my armor.

I stayed silent as I stared blankly and unwaveringly at the mangled corpse, and then I slightly bent my upper body, executing a bow with my helm held low. In Japan, a bow with this kind of degree showed respect to the individual one bows to; however, for me, I only bowed to those I am personally grateful to. I bow to those that I respect from the bottom of my heart and not for appearances only.

"Thank you for listening to me," I said loudly and firmly in the still silence, before straightening my back and performing a perfect 180 degree turn on my heel. I didn't look back at the mangled corpse as I walked off, knowing that I would probably be back to finish my business with it.

* * *

"Do you have a shovel?" Was the first thing I asked, making my current companion shutter their optics at me in a owlish and confused manner. I folded my servos over my chest, patiently waiting for the mech to speak up, but realizing that I wouldn't receive any response, I raised a single optical ridge, my orange optics gleaming impatiently as I pressured, "Well?"

"A _what_?" The only mech with a black and purple paintjob questioned me with an incredulous expression on his face.

I resisted the urge to roll my optics. So _now_ the little shitter talks to me. "A shovel. You know, the device they use to dig? Don't tell me you Cybertronians haven't invented it yet," I said with a disappointed frown, despite me knowing that they _have_ invented it. I remembered a scene in Transformers Spotlight: Megatron, where Rumble was holding a shovel whilst his brother held a bucket as Megatron pickaxed his way through the mine.

Wow. Is it just me, or are my memories getting clearer and much more detailed?

"I _know_ what a slagging shovel is, femme," Venompoint snarled, mimicking me by crossing his arms, and I raised my other optical ridge at his action. "What I don't understand is _why_ you fragging need one," he said with a distinct growl towards the end of his words.

"To dig, of course," I deadpanned with a purse of my dermas. "What _else_ can a shovel be used for?" I questioned sarcastically

"To beat the slag out of irritating bots like _you_ ," He taunted back, his dermas pulled back to reveal his sharp, canine-like dentals, to which I responded by pulling my dermas back and baring my not so sharp dentals back at him.

"Oh ha ha," I laughed without a single trace of amusement. " _Very_ funny, Venompoint. You're practically killing me with that one. Say, have you ever thought of becoming a comedian with your humor?"

Venompoint gave me a pointed stare that wasn't really a glare but more of a 'Are you stupid?' look.

I furrowed my optical ridges at him. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

Ignoring the strangeness of my word usage and of the perplexity that was idiomatic expressions, Venompoint leveled me with a blank stare. "Is it common have mech comedians in your home planet?" He questioned me, and in turn completely changing the topic of our conversation, and in turn halting our impending argument.

I raised an optical ridge at him whilst bemusedly tilting my intricate helm at him. "Mech comedians?" It took me a minute to relate 'mech' to 'male', but after I had done so, I hesitantly nodded my helm. "Of course! In fact, we have more mech entertainers than femmes since they're easier on the optic for us femmes," I said with a smirk. "Why the sudden interest?" I questioned him, and squinted a little when the red light from his optics gleamed a little too brightly and blinded me for a second.

"It is...rare in Cybertron for a mech to become a comedian, or an entertainer to be precise" Venompoint informed me, making me raise both of my optical ridges at the new information. "Jobs pertaining to entertainment are commonly issued to femmes, because of their pleasing appearances and lithe frames," he continued, and I found my optics widening just a bit as I realized that we were having a conversation. An honest to Primus _conversation_ —not an argument, but a conversation that was typically as normal as any other conversation, minus the scathing comments and somebody getting slammed to the ground.

Damn.

Somebody shoot me now. I swear, I think hell just froze all over and blood sucking pigs with wings have stared the apocalypse.

"And let me guess," I interrupted him, making him frown derisively at me. "You mechs work as po—" I paused, before correcting myself. "- _enforcers_ , dock workers, miners, high priests, medics..." I trailed off, not knowing what else to add on to the list.

Venompoint scoffed at my lack of knowledge about Cybertronian livelihoods, before he corrected me. "Before the war, there were more femme medics than mechs; because femmes have smaller and thinner fingers than us," he said, displaying his hand that might as well have been twice the size of my own. "And most of the ones you listed are the functions that a mech would be _lucky_ enough to die with," he said, before his dermas formed into a scathing sneer that made his optics narrow into a fierce glare that complemented the hate and anger that gleamed brightly in those ruby colored orbs. "Yes, they were _very_ lucky mechs to die with _those_ types of functions. Enforcers, dockworkers, medics, priests, archivists, politicians, merchants, reporters, businessmechs, you fragging name it," he continued, his sneer widening. "But there were jobs that not only mechs, but femmes as well, had to resort to, all for the sake of adjusting and obeying the Council's stupid Caste System," he said with a grimace. "Pleasurebots, black merchants, miners, racers, assassins, thieves, waste disposal bots, gladiators, the likes. The worst jobs a Cybertronian could ever land themselves into," Venompoint said, his faceplates twisting into an ugly expression. "Because once you're sparked into it, it'll take you a whole fragging lifetime to get out of it. Heck, some mechs are even lucky enough that they were able to escape their primary functions because of the Great War happening, but others?" Here, Venompoint paused to scrutinize my blank and unreadable expression. "There's just no escaping the function you've been upgraded into," he ended it with a smile—one that was bitter and ironic and _just there_.

I felt a shiver make its way up my spinal strut, feeling chilling goosebumps travel up my armor.

A tense silence occupied us for a moment, neither one of us breaking it as we stared the other in the optics. Finally, I ripped my gaze away from Venompoint's pained one, feeling the foreign object within my chest pulse painfully at the thoughts of many Cybertronians that had to suffer from the Caste System. I wasn't used to hearing of such a hierarchal society such as this one, because I had already adapted to Earth's current society. The society I had been born into hadn't been as cruel as this one, which made me feel guilty for a reason that wasn't _my_ fault that the Cybertronians had to live through such a cruel society

It was just... so unfair.

"Hey," Venompoint snapped me out of my thoughts, and I tilted my chin upwards to look up at him, having noticed that the mech had turn around so that his broad back was facing me. "If you're looking for a shovel, Crashthrough has one, go ask it from him." And then, with those parting words, the black and purple mech just walked off, leaving me to my own thoughts of how unjustifiable the Caste System had been.

So what if there was order? It was unfair, and cruel, and just downright lazy of the Council of Elders to have not destroyed their current societal system and replace it with one that would be efficient for all. Mechs and femmes wouldn't be ranked by class they'd been sparked to. No, they should have ranked mechs and femmes to their primary jobs that would be appropriate for their strengths to grow and for their weaknesses to adapt.

For a so called advanced society made up of super computer-brained, giant aliens made out of metal, the mechs that supervised and led over Cybertron sure were lazy and useless aftholes.

Exempting Optimus Prime, of course, and the reason for that was justifiable enough. He was _Optimus Prime_ , after all. The one with a spark that Primus had chosen to rule over Cybertron. And despite Primus being a total afthole in my opinion that _really_ needed his optics gouged out by a rusty spoon, the omnipotent being loved his creations and would do anything to help and protect them.

He may have not been a fair person to me; however, I admit that Primus _is_ a great father, to even care for his children despite the many sins they've committed to one another, and soon to other sentient beings, that must have been a lot of love he held for them.

* * *

"What are you even gonna use this for?" Crashthrough inquired with a tilt of his helm, his amber optics glinting suspiciously at me. He handed me his shovel, and I accepted it, wrapping my hand around the thick handle of the shovel that was slightly rusty. I fingered the rusty parts of the handle, my nose twitching in disgust over why the hell was I still touching those dirty parts.

"To dig," I answered simply before twisting my wrist and leaning the shovel part against my shoulder.

"To dig what?" Crashthrough asked me, raising an optical ridge, and I looked him up and down, eyeing his bulky frame and large arms. I internally debated for a moment if whether or not I needed his help. But, after a moment of silent deciding, I thought otherwise.

"Something," I said, thinning my dermas, before I turned on my heel. "Anyways, thanks Crashthrough, I'll be sure to return this to you in a joor or so," I shrugged, before walking off, grimacing slightly when one of my heel struts dug into a particularly soft area of the dirt covered ground.

"Hey! Wait up! I'm coming along with you!" I heard Crashthrough shout out, and the sound of heavy pedes pounding against the ground soon followed after his yell.

When I could feel him coming closer to me, I resisted the urge to throw my helm back and sigh loudly.

Men. Even nosier than us woman. Fucking hypocrites, the lot of 'em.

* * *

Crashthrough kept shifting his gaze from me, to the night sky, back to me, to a pile of rubble and Cybertronian limbs and dried enegron, then back to me once again so that he could fragging start the entire process all over again.

I was getting irritated with the way his optics kept narrowing into suspicious glares, only for it to disappear just so that those innocently confused looks of his could cover up the doubt and wariness that he 'secretly' had for me.

"You gonna kill somebody with that?" Crashthrough broke the awkward silence between us with such a straightforward question despite the uneasy expression on his faceplates.

I suddenly halted to a stop, causing my current and not needed companion to stop as well, the armor on my shoulder jolting upwards in shock and surprise, and I turned my horrified faceplates towards him to give him one of my best incredulous stares ever. " _WHAT?_ "My voice came out sounding more like a choke than an actual voice, and my orange optics widened a bit when Crashthrough forced himself to smile as he chortled nervously.

"Well, um, er, are you gonna kill somebody with that shovel?" He repeated his question, and I could see the left end of his dermas twitching slightly.

My jaw slackened, but I forced my mouth closed once it had slightly opened. "I—what— _why the frag would you even say that?!_ " I screeched, throwing both of my hands to the air, which in turn made me drop the shovel. The shovel slammed against the ground, accompanied with a loud thudding sound, and I cringed slightly when a most terrifying idea came into my processors. "Did—Did you use it to kill somebody?!" I exclaimed, my optics shifting from the bulky mech in front of me, to the shovel, and to the side where I was mostly sure I could run flee to if _I_ became the next victim of said mech and shovel.

Crashthrough stared blankly at me, my loud question having just been processed into his processor, because a moment later, his yellow optics widened in horror and he leapt away from me so fast that he could have been the Flash for all I knew. "WHA—NO!" He immediately denied, shaking both his helm and hands wildly to emphasize his point. "I-I never killed anybody with that thing—beat up, sure, but never kill," he said. "I-I'm not a murderer," he said, his gaze drooping down to stare sullenly at the ground, his optics darkening a bit as he shoulders trembled a little. "I-I'm not a murderer, I swear," he muttered.

I shuttered my optics, blinking owlishly at the pained yet confused expression on his faceplates. Crashthrough looked so lost, and this hadn't been the first time I'd seen him look like that. I opened my mouth to say something, before I snapped it shut, at a loss for words. The foreign object within me thrummed deeply, emphasizing the pity and sadness that welled up within me, and I vented out lightly, knowing that _I_ had to be the one to comfort the large mech, because there was no Vitallium to take care of him.

I took a step closer to the blue and silver painted mech, and, tentatively, I placed a hand on his servo. As I'd expected, the bulky mech jolted in surprise at my sudden touch, and his dark gaze strayed from the ground to lock with mine, and I offered him a small and hesitant smile that I _hoped_ looked comforting. "Never said you were one," I started, before wincing once I realized my less than tactful choice of words. "And I doubt you ever were one," I immediately covered up, chortling a bit at my sad excuse of a cover up. "You're one of the nicest mechs I know," and the one of the most paranoid ones as well.

Crashthrough stared blankly at me, before he bluntly pointed out. "You only know four mechs," he said.

Oh puh-lease. I know _way_ more mechs than you do. It's just that those mechs don't know me in return, nor do they know that I've been watching and reading their life stories, teehee.

"Well, you're less weird than most of them," I added, and I mentally cheered when I was rewarded with a small smile that was as tentative as my own.

"And is that supposed to make me feel better?" Crashthrough replied, slowly straightening up to his full height.

My dermas stretched themselves into a wolfish grin. "Hopefully."

Crashthrough gave me a smile—one that was fond and warm and grateful, unlike the hesitant ones he'd given me, and the foreign object within me tingled a bit once I felt his energy field brushing slightly against my own, enough to send me a burst of appreciation—before placing his huge hand on the back of my helm and patting it. "Well, it kind of did," he said, chuckling a bit, before pulling away from me, having fully expected me to flinch away from his touch. He had learned later on from our first conversation that I didn't like to be held or touched by anybody.

"That's great," I said, moving my attention to the shovel on the floor that had fallen from my grasp. I bent down to pick it up, fingering the rusty bits again, before I turned my gaze upward, at Crashthrough's faceplates. "Anyways, let's go. I have lots of things to do later—"

Crashthrough snorted, "like beating yourself up again?"

I stilled, the armor on my shoulder flaring outward as I felt the extra appendages on my back twitch. "I—you saw me?" I squeaked, momentarily losing my composure. Realizing my less than pleasing reaction, I flushed brightly and internally berated myself for acting like so.

Crashthrough bobbed his helm, walking past me, and I took the silent message that we were going to talk while walking. I followed after him, until I was the one to lead where we were going—because I sincerely doubted he knew where I was heading off to, much less know what I was going to do with his beloved shovel, nor was I sure that he would _accept_ what I was about to do. My orange optics locked with his yellow orbs, and it took a klik of silent walking for him to elaborate himself. "It was hard not to, Galactica," Crashthrough paused. "Now that's a mouthful," he drawled, and it took me a moment to realize that he was talking about my Cybertronian designation.

For a moment there, I had thought that he was talking about something else. Something dirty and much less appropriate.

"Mind shortening it up a bit?" Crashthrough asked me, and I tilted my helm.

"Shorten it up to _what_? Galactica's pretty hard to shorten up," I admitted.

"Well, we could always call you Gal or Tic," he offered, and I grimaced at those options. Gal wasn't any different from femme, as Venompoint _adored_ calling me, the little piece of shit. And Tic...well, it sounded more like tick the parasitic insect in animals than tic the other word for twitch. "Fine, fine, _not_ Gal or Tic," Crashthrough easily placated, and my shoulder armor settled down from its hike up. "How 'bout...Lac? No, wait, that sounds fragging terrible— _wait!_ I've got it now, how 'bout _Lax_? Huh? Huh?" Crashthrough said, grinning cheekily at me as he pushed his optical ridges at me up and down in a _very_ pedo way.

"Lax?" Of all things that I could be named after, it was the word that meant _relax_. And considering my current predicament right now, I was the farthest thing from lax. Oh, the irony. "That sounds very contradicting," I deadpanned, giving him my best unimpressed look.

Crashthrough grinned widely at me, "which makes it a _great_ nickname."

I snorted, but I didn't miss the pulse of reminiscence that washed over me. I remembered a time where I hadn't been serious, where I could just wash away all the worries with the simple snap of my leg and swing of my arm, where I could just forget and just _feel_. I thinned my dermas for a brief moment, before releasing them with a soft sigh. "Fine, whatever, call me what you want," I said with a careless shrug. "But what made you know?" I changed the topic of the conversation to what it had been just a few breems ago.

"That you were beating yourself to the ground?" Crashthrough said with a lift of his optical ridge, and by the purse of my dermas, I guess he confirmed that that was what we were talking about. "Rouge likes to complain. A _lot_. And she just so happened to mention about you and your newest, and I quote, 'slagging mech-like training routine just so that she could slagged to the ground of this Primus-forsaken planet of ours just like all the rest of you glitch-helmed mechs that can't even know the difference between your tiny to Pit processors and aft.'" He ended with a smile.

I snorted. "Figures she'd say something like that," I said with a fond smile, before I halted to a stop once I'd noticed that we had arrived at my designated location. My hand shot out to partially wrap itself around Crashthrough's bulky servo, and the mech instinctively stopped walking as well, shooting me a confused look. "We're here," I said, fingering the rusty parts of the shovel again, albeit this time with a feeling of anxiety over what his reaction would be.

Crashthrough shuttered his yellow optics, before he curiously looked around to identify my chosen destination. There wasn't a single reaction from him as his gaze fleeted past piles of rubble, destroyed buildings, singed Cybertronian limbs and—Crashthrough paused once his gaze landed on one particular form, his faceplates paling a little when he recognized it.

The large, bulky, and thick-framed mech swiveled his helm to face me, his faceplates morphing into an expression of bewildered confusion. His optics flickered to me, then to the rusty shovel that I was holding, and then to the corpse of a Cybertronian's body that had been positioned against a pile of rubble that was a mix between metal bits and earthly rocks.

I ignored his flabbergasm, instead focusing my entire attention on the dead Cybertronian. "Yo," I greeted, my pedes having a mind of its own as they walked straight towards the mangled corpse. "I'm back," I added as my optics flickered to the ground around it, searching for a possible spot to start digging up the Cybertronian corpse's new resting place.

"..." The corpse remained silent, but I ignored its silence as I walked towards a spot that I had deemed dig-able.

I slammed my foot against the ground several times, testing the softness of the ground, and nodding in satisfaction when it wasn't too muddy or too hard that I might require a pick axe for support. Positioning myself, I wrapped my small hands around the thick shaft of the shovel—a memory flashed through my processor, and I was reminded of the time when I was a younger child and I had chosen to dig my goldfishes instead of flushing them down the toilet or feeding them to Abyss—and then I slammed the sharp tip of the shovel into the ground, watching it sink into the ground.

"Um...Lax?" Crashthrough's voice rang out loudly, and I vented out slightly as I hefted the dirt on the flat surface of the shovel and tossed said dirt to the side so that I could pile it up later on once I had dug a deeper burrow. "What are you doing?" He reluctantly asked me, sounding as if he had a better chance of running away than entertaining me right now.

"I'm making a burial," I answered as I poured all my strength into digging a burrow that would be deep enough to contain the Cybertronian.

Crashthrough shuttered his optics at me, optical ridges furrowing a little bit afterwards. "You're going to...make a... _burial_?" He tested the word, looking unfamiliar with such a term. "What's that?" He asked me, tilting his helm to the side to display his perplexity with such a simple word.

I paused, causing the dirt that I had accumulated to slide off of the shovel and slump harmlessly onto the ground. I shook myself out of my surprise, moving my servos once again to resume digging, albeit I answered Crashthrough curious question, "In my home planet, we pay respects to the dead by burying them underneath the ground."

"But why?" He pressed on. "What's the use of burying your dead? Couldn't you just smelt them down instead so that they could be used for making the protoforms of new Transformers?" He asked me, golden optics gleaming brightly.

"Well...that was certainly one of the burial practices that the organics in my planet practices," I answered after brief moment of silent, pushing away the image of bodies being burned in that one horror movie I watched. "But—my family and friends liked burying our dead instead of you're so called 'smelting them down so that they can be used for making other Transformers,' which, by the way, sounds kinda disturbing," I added as an afterthought. "Do you really do that? Melt down your dead so that others can use them?" I questioned the dark blue framed mech.

"Um...I think so," Crashthrough hesitantly answered, and I flickered my optics to catch him shifting his gaze from side to side. "All I remember is that we dispose of our dead by smelting them down into spare parts for others to use or for creating protoforms for new soldi—Cybertronians to use," he babbled, and I rose an optical ridge when I noticed his left eye twitching.

"Uh...ok," I answered, and then allowed an awkward and rather uncomfortable silence to plunge over us.

A few minutes had only passed when Crashthrough broke the silence once again—making me realize that I was a _horrible_ conversationalist, sometimes, if i was in the mood to actually talk.

"So you're burying him?" He asked me, golden optics glinting with an unknown emotion that I couldn't quite put. His faceplates twisted into an expresison that was part horrified, part disappointed, part fearful, and part intrigued.

"I guess you can call it that," I answered with a nonchalant shrug. "But I'm not going to go through the entire ritual of blessing for his safe trip to—" I paused, wondering what the term 'heaven' was for them. "conjoin itself with Primus's spark once again," I continued safely, glancing up at him and noticing the slightly amused look on his face for my interesting choice of words. "I'm just going to give him a grave—because it just doesn't feel right for me, I guess. The dead are, well, dead now, and their bodies shouldn't be treated like this. They deserve some rest, after all the shit they must have gone through. The least anybody could give them is a grave so that they can finally be in peace," I said before focusing back on the task at hand, staying completely silent when he asked me another question, knowing that it was rude of me to ignore that but I had been too engrossed with finishing my task to even bother hearing it in the first place.

I don't know how long it took for me to dig a hole this deep, but once I was satisfied with it, I heaved myself out of the hole and placed the shovel against the pile of dirt that I had managed to collect from digging a burrow this deep and big, and I must say that I did a pretty good job, considering that I only used shovels to dig graves for my gold fishes.

"That mech was a Decepticon, you know," Crashthrough interrupted my train of thought, and I snapped my helm towards him surprise masking my features and causing the foreign object within me to jolt in surprise as well—me and it having momentarily forgotten the large mech's presence with how engrossed I had been with my earlier task. "He was a Decepticon. The ones who enjoyed beating us Neutrals up and using us as target practice for when they actually fight the Autobots," he said, and I could clearly hear the bitter edge that tinted his voice.

I shuttered my optics at him, surprised and confused by the sudden news. This dead Cybertronian had been a Decepticon? I hadn't seen a single sigil on it...

"So do you really think _that_ ," he emphasized, blatantly pointing at the mutated corpse made out of metal and wires and what had once been a spark, and regarding it as if it was an abomination. "Deserves peace?"

It hadn't really been a surprise to me when I felt the object within me pulsate with pure, raw, and unadultered fury that made the energon coursing through my lines feel as if they'd suddenly transformed into smoking hot lava to support all the anger and disappointment and disgust that welled up within me. I clenched my hands into tight fists, resisting the urge to _explode_ like a ticking bomb, and instead venting out deeply, as if I was blowing out all the anger within me.

"I do," I answered, completely sure with my answer. Mentally, I told myself, _it's not Crashthrough's fault that he'd lived his whole life believing that both sides are as evil as the Unmaker himself._ "Decepticon or Autobot or Neutral—it doesn't matter, because I believe that when someone's dead, when someone's offline, they deserve respect for lasting as long as they did," I tried explaining. _It's not Crashthrough's fault that he's been hurt by both sides, just as everyone else had been..._ "...Even if they're bad...even if they're good...there's no difference when they're dead already..." I muttered, the image of my father's coffin appearing within my processor and I pursed my dermas to prevent them from trembling. _It's not Crashthrough's fault that he's never seen the kindness that can come from both factions...even if the actions they both took were for the worst._ "Everyone deserves peace, Crashthrough...Everyone, even the worst of us," I said, internally laughing a bit ironically at that. Because even to this day, I still wish for the souls of my former bullies to go straight to hell, even though I grudgingly know that everyone one of us have a chance to repent for our sins and wrongdoings.

"...Everyone?" Crashthrough asked me, his gaze falling to stare at the ground with an unreadable expression on his faceplates.

" _Everyone_ ," I firmly confirmed, before making my way towards the mutated Cybertronian corpse. I stopped right in front of it, hesitating for a klik, since I wondered just _how_ exactly I was going to heft this big guy up. And judging by Crashthrough's reaction to me burying the dead mech, I didn't think that he'd be pleased to help me deliver my respect to this dead. Sighing loudly, I crouched down, took a silent moment to concentrate all of my strength towards my servos, then wrapped my servos underneath the dead mech's armpits and over his broad shoulders that had a few wires poking out from in between the spaces. With a determined huff, I heaved upwards, flinching slightly from the pain that I'd received from my wrist, but forcing myself to steel through it. Damn it, I was a soldier and will always be one until my dad decided to strip the honor off of me. No superior and no other soldier will ever have the right to retire me, only one man had that right, but now he was dead, and I was to die a soldier, as my dad had, and that was the greatest honor I think I could ever do for him.

My sore wrist screamed at me to stop; I didn't. I forced myself to drag the body towards the burrow I had made, determined to get the one that I had poured every ounce of my fear, my sadness, my disappointment, and my anger into to its grave, where its soul, or spark if you want to get technical, may finally rest in peace once its chassis gets the respect that it might have never really deserved for all its factions sins.

However, a faction doesn't define someone. It represents their ideals, but never their actions. Just like a man to his country—a country doesn't define a man's actions, influence yes, but never determines; because if you stripped off the countries, the cultures, and the language barriers, what do you get? You get a race of human beings, and that's it. Just like when you strip a Transformer of their factions; all you'll get is a Transformer that isn't any different from another Transformer.

Pushing—to be honest, it felt more like tossing—the corpse into its grave, pausing for a moment when I noticed a sigil on the very back of its helm, and I immediately recognized the dark purple symbol that represented the 'evil' faction. I stared blankly at it, thinking, huh, Crashthrough wasn't kidding when he said that it was a Decepticon...

"Well what do you know," I started out, hoping that I sounded casual enough to cloud the awkwardness that layered underneath my tone. "You weren't kidding when you said he was a Decepticon."

"Why would I be joking about something like that?" Crashthrough immediately demanded, and when I turned my helm to face him, there was an affronted expression on his faceplates.

I shrugged, deciding to wing it. "People these days have an odd sense of humor, if you know what I mean," I said, giving him a pointed look, to which he understood completely, much to my surprise.

"Venompoint," he offered.

"Venompoint," I confirmed.

And with that temporary agreement, silence encompassed over us once more.

When I was done burying the Cybertronian and placing a pile of stones over the head of the grave, arranging them into a makeshift tombstone, I turned around to see if Crashthrough was still there, waiting for me; however, as I'd expected, the large, bulky mech had already scampered off, making me drop my shoulders from their tense hold, allowing myself to relax now that I was completely alone.

I looked down at the shovel by my feet, wondering if I could bring it back to Crashthrough the next day, since the sound of a good recharge sounded _amazing_ to me right now.

* * *

 ** _Requesting to open Internal Logging...Requesting...Requesting...Request: granted._**

 ** _Opening Internal Logging; Accessing New File...New File: accessed._**

 ** _Opening New File... New File: opened; Opening New Unit File...New Unit File: opened._**

 ** _Access to Unit File Number 030: granted and awaiting further actions._**

Hi again, dear diary of mine. Galactica here, like always. Man, we're at number 30 now? Feels like only yesterday I was doing number six... I guess time really _does_ fly once it passes by, but considering that I have to maybe wait for a a few hundreds of thousands of years for the Earth to come into being, I don't think that it's such a bad thing.

And once again, today, I've encountered another culture difference between my home planet and Cybertron. The difference of getting rid of our dead's bodies. It seemed to me that Cybertronians dealt with this issue in two different ways—either by smelting down their dead's frames so that they could be used for the convenience of others, or keeping their corpse in a space shuttle to send them off—or as Crashthrough had told me, but there might be even more ways on how Cybertronians treat their dead.

However, I think that the idea of them sending their dead into space via space shuttle _was_ pretty fancy, considering that us human beings spend _millions_ of dollars for a single space expedition.

But now that I'm thinking of how we humans treat the bodies of our dead, we weren't really all that different from Cybertronians before, and on occasion, even now. I remember during one of my History classes where Mrs. Torres would talk about the Scandinavians or the Norsemen, and how they would honor their dead by storing them in a boat to push into a great body of water, where the dead's loved one would shoot an arrow of fire to burn down the boat so that the spirit of the dead would peacefully ascend to where their Gods resided within.

Oh, and not to mention that sad scene in Thor 2: Dark of the World, where Freya had died and her dead body had sailed off past that awesome looking waterfall. When I had been watching that scene, I didn't have the heart in me to feel bad for Thor, since I was too busy crying for Loki, knowing that the God of Mischief would be wreck once he'd heard the news.

And I was write. Loki _was_ a wreck once his illusion had worn off. But let me tell you this, bedhead!Loki _was_ pretty hot.

And that part where Cybertronians would smelt down their dead so that they could be used for building the bodies of others—well, I don't know about you, but cremating sounds pretty similar to me, minus the 'using their bodies to make the body of another.' But if you counted donating one's organs after they died, then, well, I guess that's pretty similar.

To be honest, since having been transported into this alternate universe where sentient otherworldly beings aside from us humans resided in.

...I couldn't just have been transported to the Pokemon universe, huh? That had been first on my list on which universe I'd want to be reincarnated or transported into, considering that Pokemon was my fave game and I didn't think that there was anything bad with being that world. Well, aside from the part where we force creatures into tiny balls and force them to spend the rest of their lives with us, and maybe use them to battle with other people to earn money.

Well...maybe it was for the better that I _didn't_ get transported to _any_ universe, considering that it might do more harm to me than any good could.

Anyways, I guess it's time to talk about my progress with my scarily strange companions.

As usual, we're starting off with Venompoint. Our relationship hasn't changed since yesterday. We'd pass each other, I'd say 'hi' at him, and he'd either glance at me or downright completely ignore.

What. A. Douche.

To be honest, I don't even know what's worst—our relationship _now_ , or our relationship _then_ which involved snarky arguments, glares, and hostile feelings towards one another. I'd guess that our relationship now would be better, considering that we just had a kind of decent conversation just a while ago. And since I'm on the topic of our earlier conversation right now, I guess it wouldn't hurt to right my thoughts of what had bothered me so much.

I knew, from the Transformers: MTMTE series that once a mech had been born into a frame with an alt. mode that would suit a particular function, they would never escape from it unless they had the credits or shanix to buy their freedoms, or undergo a surgery—that I couldn't remember for the life of me _what_ it was called—to temporary change their alt. mode, or, if they had the sufficient amount of money, their function change would be permanent.

It...didn't feel right to me. Because ever since I'd been a little girl, my mom and dad had taught me to be whatever I wanted to be, to choose my own path, and to create my own future with them supporting me from the shadows. They taught me to be whoever I wanted to be, and I'd held their words _very_ closely to my heart. I was an American—no, I was a _human being_ , and I had the right of freedom just as all other human beings had. I had the right _choose_ what I wanted to be in life, the right to _work hard_ for whatever I wanted to be, and the right to _try_ my hardest.

What Venompoint had just told me, where a Transformer had to have what their future would be _chosen_ for them, violated so many things in my rules of life and freedom. That wasn't the same freedom as us human beings had, where we had the freedom to _choose_ —the society of Cybertron was downright comparable to _slavery_ , of all things, where the rich had the right, and those who'd been unfortunate enough to be sparked in the lower castes _didn't_.

This...This was _wrong._ Where was the order and fairness in this system? What were the leaders of Cybertron _doing_? No wonder Megatron created the Decepticons to revolt against them! This...This was just wrong, _everything_ was _**wrong**_ with this. Sentient beings, human or not, had the right of _freedom._ So what if it made things more organized? So what if it made things easier to those who apparently thought they were higher than the rest? This was just fucked up and wrong in so, _so_ , many ways. First of all, when you create a society, the first thing that should be in the leader's mind was if his citizens were content, satisfied, and not _starving themselves to death from lack of energon consumption, selling their bodies to earn money, or even having to go through the hardships of being humiliated on the streets as they passed by those more fortunate than them and would stare down at them as if they were nothing more than garbage._

A leader should have his people's well-beings in mind. His society should have laws that would be fair to each every person—where each person wasn't lower or higher than the other, and were judged by how hard they worked for in life—an economy that strived to support each and every citizen—where each person was properly nourished, instead of one part being heavily nourished, while the other being under nourished—and an army that fought to protect _all,_ not only the rich but the poor as well.

The lower castes should have undergone decent education so that they could _think for themselves as well._ The higher castes should have _helped those who were lower than them_.

Because after all, what was a country, where most of its people would be forced to do its country's bidding? That wouldn't be very profitable at all. As one of the rules of managing a business said, if the workers are happy, then one can expect a happy work place where work and production would be sufficiently better than what should be expected.

After all, fear may drive a person to do work their hardest to avoid getting hurt; however, positive emotions drives a person to their best and _beyond_ , even if it takes just a little bit of time.

But time was something that Transformers had _plenty_ of, so why could we, the simple human beings with barely a century stuffed into our lifespans, could manage our governments more sufficiently than they could have ever?

Just thinking of how _lazy_ and _incompetent_ the so called 'High Council of Cybertron' was, made my energon boil and made the foreign object within me tremble with fury and anger and utter, _utter_ , _**murder**_.

But anyways, thoughts of eviscerating already offlined Transformers pushed aside, I'd better start talking about how much my relationship with the others have improved before I decided to go and start hunting for those bastard's corpses that I just _bet_ are laying around somewhere in Iacon or maybe Tyger Pax.

Anyways, since I'm already done talking about Venompoint (the king of ALL douches), I'd best continue with Domino.

My relationship with Domino hadn't really changed much, aside from the fact that I'd found out that he was, somehow, maybe (?), a closet masochist. I mean, why would the guy dig his fingers into an open wound of his body with that stupid, dreamy look on his face? Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd thought that he was on drugs, or worse, on _anesthesia_ , but Cybertron didn't have anesthesia of all things...but drugs? I'm not really sure, considering they're mechanical creatures, not organic ones. I guess they must have an illegal code for the systems to take until they're the equivalent of a druggie? I don't really know, but I really hope not.

I still haven't gotten to see his plasma cannons— _yet_ , but I'm willing to bet my entire glossa that I'd be _able_ to, if I tried hard enough and annoyed him long enough.

Another interesting trivia, that I'd found out from Domino himself a few solar cycles ago that I forgot to mention beofre, was that he had been sparked and raised within the walls of Tyger Pax. He had told me that Tyger Pax was one of the biggest city states, and where the most influential of Cybertronians would reside in. Domino told me of that one, grand building that scraped _past_ the sky, with millions of arc-roads connecting it to the ground. He told me that Tyger Pax had been the only city-state where only Cybertronians who were above the M-1 levels could live in. It had been a place where only the rich and wealthy lived in, was what Domino had told me. Tyger Pax had been a very beautiful city state where Cybertronians could live in complete ignorance of the famine and poverty happening outside of Tyger Pax's grand, steel-plated walls that could have been a thousand feet tall.

It was a horrible place to grow up in, was all Domino could comment, before he quietly added that it had been a good thing that Tyger Pax had fallen over the course of the ward. However I could never miss the way he'd closed his optics, nor could I ever miss the way he breathed in deeply as he clenched his hands into tight balls of fists.

I couldn't say that Domino was very patriotic with his city state; however, I could see that Domino had loved his city state nonetheless. Just as Rouge had loved Praxus with all of her spark, and would do anything to bring back the home she'd once lived in.

Feels aside, next on the list would be Vitallium, the stoicest mech I could ever have the pleasure of meeting. However, despite his stoicness, Vitallium was a very kind and considerate mech who placed others before him. I've only known him for about a month now—but I found myself ranking him second to Rouge on who I liked best in our ragtag group of Neutrals. When Rouge wasn't present to patch my twisted wrist or/and ankle, he'd be there, and whilst he would repair my injuries, he wouldn't complain to me like Rouge would. Sure, Vitallium would reprimand me for being so reckless, but he would always look at me with understanding and approval shinning brightly in his neon green optics.

I could tell that Vitallium secretly supported my training. I didn't know why, nor had i ever questioned him, nor was I even _planning_ on asking him. I couldn't really explain my reason for why I never planned on asking him, but maybe it was because he'd look at me with a sort of familiarity as he repaired my broken wrist or/and ankle. I'd notice him placing a hand over his wrist after he was done repairing me, and it took me a moment to guess that he must have been like me before.

One who would push themselves past their limits to overcome an obstacle awaiting in the future, and in doing so, receiving a few scrapes and bruises here and there.

Or maybe I'd started hallucinating the whole thing—because there was no way Vitallium would have to physically train himself past his limits. He didn't have a reason to do so. He was a medic, and judging by the short stories he'd humor me from his Academy days, the only thing Vitallium was pushing himself past was his knowledge and skills in the field of Repairs and Medicines.

He wasn't a fighter like Venompoint, Domino, Crashthrough and I were. He was a mentor to Rouge in the field he succeeded in, just as he was as much of a medic as Rouge was. He wasn't a fighter, he was a _healer_. Vitallium was like mom and Nico, the brains of the group and the one who tended to us. He was the one who fighters fought _for_.

Which leads me to my most favorite person on this side of the planet— _Rouge_. My most favorite person on Cybertron, for like, _ever_. Only difference before now and then, was that _now_ I knew what getting on her bad side was like. I'd already gotten yelled at, hit at the back of the head, and gotten a rather _strong_ pinch on my injuries from the turquoise-colored femme—luckily for me, I hadn't gotten stabbed by an energon scalpel. _Yet_ , thank God, but I knew that one day I would—because it would be simply inevitable. Once you get Rouge angry; one day, in the future, whether it be distant or near, you'd get stabbed by her because you were stupid enough to _do_ something stupid.

And trust me when I say this, you _will_ do something stupid. Mark. My. Words.

But other than that, me and Rouge bonded pretty well. We exchanged basic facts about each other—what our favorite colors were, hers were the colors of her paintjob whilst mine was purple; our spark names, hers was Cerise (it was apparently a shade of shade of hot) whilst I told her that my real name was Meg, which she pronounced in a more awkward and incredibly wrong _Wreck_ with a bunch of whirrs. In the end, we decided to never speak of _that_ conversation ever again; what was our families like, Rouge told me that she had a strict yet caring sire, a boisterous yet loving carrier, and a big brother that she loved with all of her spark, and I told her about dad, mom, Eric, Nico, Ciara, Ryan, and all the crazy uncles and aunts that Team Desert Eagle had consisted off; what was our childhood like, Rouge told me that hers had been fun but the sparklings her age didn't like her because of her carrier's reputation as a pleasure spy, whatever the hell that was, and I reluctantly told her that I had been bullied when I'd been young; etc.

We shared a lot of things with one another. Basic information, some secrets, and finally, we shared _trust_. We trusted one another to never speak of what the other had storied. With the way our trust ran deep, I could say for sure that we were no longer _just_ friends, but _close_ friends, which made me feel a mixture of nonchalance and happiness. Happiness, because I was _finally_ starting to try getting comfortable in this life I had on Cybertron, and, in doing so, gained a friend that I could trust a lot more than I really should; nonchalance, because—well, Rouge reminded me of Ciara. Like, _a lot_. She could have been the Transformers version of Ciara, if she had Ciara's humor, brains, and just downright indecency that would either make the mechs in the group blush to their audials or stay very, _very,_ far away from and act as if they didn't know her.

Rouge would never be Ciara. Nobody could ever replace my best friend, my girlfriend, _my sister_. But maybe, just maybe, Rouge could be _like_ Ciara. A sister. The one that my mom had never gave me, since two sons and one daughter were already enough for her.

And... If someone were to ask me if I would fight for Rouge and Vitallium, the healers of our group, the answer would be _Hell yeah, I would_ ; if one asked me if I would protect them, my answer would still be _Hell yeah, I would_ ; however, if one would ask me if I would fight to protect them, my answer would be torn between _Yes_ and _They can protect themselves in a fight_.

And I didn't have to know why I would be so torn between those two answers. I would protect them without a single thought, of course, because they were _healers_ , and it would be my job as a _fighter_ to protect them; however, there was just this air around that just screamed _NOT WEAK!_ and _I can protect myself_.

 _(As I wrote this down, images of Vitallium's sharply curved servo blades that glinted underneath the the shine of stars, his neon green optics narrowing into the familiar gaze of a predator ready to strike, the engine within his chest rumbling to life as his shoulders tensed, his whole frame looking ready to pounce forward and attack, and all I did was watch him with my own shoulder plates hiked up into a rigid arc, as I examined the dangerous gleam on his admittedly beautiful weapons that had been triggered to come out just to intimidate Domino;_

 _The memory of Rouge, standing defiantly over Crashthrough—a hard-working gladiator with the bulk of two tanks stuffed into his bulky frame_ _—with her red optics glinting dangerously as she held a couple of medical scalpels that had their fullers filled with a neon pink liquid that glowed ominously. Her lithe and much smaller frame seemed much more fragile and weaker than Crashthrough's own bulky and large one, however, at that very moment, with Rouge's optics narrowed into the familiar gaze of a predator, her ruby red dermas looking more like blood had been spilled over it, and the air of an experiences individual hovering over her perfectly calm shoulders, Rouge looked as if_ she _was the fighter instead of the healer that she truly was.)_

Rouge and Vitallium may be healers, but they were as much of a fighter as me and the rest were.

And last, but not the very least, we have Crashthrough to end this journal entry. Now, the question is, what could I _possibly_ talk about Crashthrough? Well, to be fucking honest with ya'll, not much. Like I said before, Crashthrough was a mysterious mech. Heck, for all I knew, his designation could have been _mystery_ , considering how, well, yeah _—_ beautiful me shutting up now, haha.

Sure, I guess I could say Crashthrough and I bonded through the time we spent with one another. I knew his favorite color, which was red; I asked why his faceplates were red, and he told me that he'd onlined with it; I asked him how he was his gladiator life, and he honestly told me that it wasn't fun and that he was just doing it for the energon and money.

I knew much more about Crashthrough, and he knew much more about me. Slowly by slowly, he became much less of a mystery and that pang I'd feel in my chest— _the foreign object within my chest only occasionally thrummed with sadness and loneliness whenever Crashthrough did something that seemed familiar yet so so confusing that made my processors hurt a lot_ —lessened.

However, Crashtrough was still a mystery. I knew that he was hiding something—not only from me, but from Rouge and Venompoint and Domino as well.

It seemed that only Vitallium knew just what the fuck Crashthrough was hiding, and I'd catch the looks he'd send the much larger mech when Crashthrough slipped up something that he shouldn't have said, which, by the way, happened only sometimes but merited much suspiciousness.

Rouge and Domino didn't seem to mind Crashthrough's secret, but Venompoint and I shared the same sentiments about what exactly Crashthrough was hiding.

I didn't ask Crashthrough what exactly he was hiding; always thought about it, sure, but never outright _did it_.

After all, I had secrets too; as long as he didn't bother me about my secrets, I wouldn't bother him.

... _Yet_

Like I said, I'm one devious bitch. I make promises that I don't usually keep, unless they're with the people I love the most and the promises aren't too unreasonable; so, if you want to make a promise with me, bring out a contract and we'll start signing after I approve of what's been written on the document.

Ciara was the one who taught me that. Don't sign things if you haven't read it twice. I had told her at one time that she'd make a fantastic lawyer or businesswoman, in my opinion; in response, my blonde-headed friend merely snorted at my suggestion and told me that she didn't want even more drama or lies shoved into her life.

A soldier was what she wanted to be as well. Just like what Eric and I had wanted. Just like the dream the three of us had promised.

But deep down, I knew what she truly wanted to be. Ciara, despite her geniusness, always wanted to become a teacher. Not the brilliant and sometimes douchy professors in colleges, or the ones in highschool—but a teacher for either middleschool or gradeschool. Ciara had once told me that she wanted to become a teacher for either sections was because she wanted to change a child's life. Become the adult that stopped what _could_ have been a person's problematic past.

She had wanted to become the teacher that our teachers had never been. Someone who'd be there to guide the children to their right path, to teach children from what is right and wrong, and to merely _help_ someone.

Ciara had always been the one who had the largest heart out of the three of us. She had a heart made out of the purest gold, the brightest diamonds, and the strongest platinum.

But she wasn't kind enough to let our past bullies go by. She'd told both Ryan and I, that one day, if The Purge would ever occur, she'd hunt them down one by one, strap them to tables, and slowly torture them, peeling off their skin first, ripping fistfuls of hair one by one, and spooning eyeballs out of their respective eye sockets so very slowly and excruciating, etc.

Ciara had quite the imagination, which so often scared me.

But anyways, it's starting to get late over here. I better go to sleep now—or was it recharge now? Oh well, I'd prefer leaving them old human terms.

Good night dad, night mom, night Eric, night Nico, night Cece, night Ray, night Abyss. I love you all, and I hope that all of you are happy, wherever you are.

Dear Primus, you're a jackaft. Please go rot in the Pit.

...And please watch over Rouge, Vitallium, Domino, Crashthrough, and Venompoint. Protect them with your spark, please. None of them deserves to die, so please watch over them.

 _ **Updating Unit File 000...Updating...Updating...Updating: complete.**_

 _ **Storing Unit File 030 into Memory Core behind Inner Firewall Z-46...Storing: complete.**_

 ** _Accessing Recharge Systems: granted._**

 ** _Recharge Systems: activating in 3...2...1_**

Blackness, and nothing but that.

* * *

 **Word Count:** _19, 716 words_

 **Time of Finish: **_10:01 PM on November 15, 2015_

* * *

 **Prizes of the Winners:**

 _So Fandom Jumping Expert_ — _now christened as Gavoot the Scoot (where the hell did you get that name? I'm really freaking curious ahaha)_ — _the only winner of last chapter, requested to 'save' her prize ahaha. Welp, good for her, 'cause next chapter's gonna get MUCH more interesting, I promise._

* * *

 **Winner(s) of this Chapter:**

 _Dear freaking Primus,_ why _do I even allow this again? Dejk, I love presenting you guys with prizes AHAHA. Anyways we have a second-time running winner, Sunnysides._

 _Aaaaand, we also have the lovely TFSTARFIRE ;) Hope you guys see this soon, and you can either PM or review to me what prize you want ahaha._

* * *

 **Question/Task of this Chapter:**

 _So, I'm guessing you've all heard about what happened at Paris, France right? I don't know about you, but hearing about_ this _made my heart stop beating. First of all, I didn't hear what happened in Paris on the news, or on the internet. No, a friend of mine in France had informed me via Skype. In the very early morning of November 14, a Saturday, my phone began beeping excessively which woke me up. Annoyed, I checked it and saw a message on the screen._

 **"We gotta talk on Skype. ASAP. Something terrible happened. Please help me. My dad can't help me, he has his own problems to deal with, and my friends can't either. Please help me."**

 _Alarmed, I immediately flipped my laptop open. My friend requested a video call, and I accepted, since we were pretty close. What I saw when her image appeared was her crying face. She had bags underneath her puffy and red eyes, her hair was a mess, and she was_ literally _shaking. She kept crying and crying, telling me how unfair life was, and I didn't understand her at first, thinking that a bully of hers had gone too far, and when I asked what happened, she told me._

 **"My mom's in the hospital, Eri. She's in critical condition in the ICU. She was in Paris, and she got caught in one of the attacks."**

 _My heart stopped beating when I heard that. I'd gone quiet without realizing it until my friend was telling screaming at me to help her and to comfort her._

 _And then, I asked her what happened._

 _She told me everything._

 _The first two attacks had happened in Stade de France, where there was a football match between France and Germany. Two explosions had sounded off, and all the citizens had gathered to the very center of the arena for protection. And when I'd done my research, the very first explosion had come from a suicide bomber that had been stopped by one brave security guard, who, God bless, was still alive but had to be rushed to the hospital because he had been injured._

 _The third attack had happened on the restaurants on Rue Bichat. One in Petit Cambodge, a Cambodian restaurant, and Le Carillon, a bar across the aforementioned restaurant. At least fifteen people had died there._

 _The fourth attack happened to a restaurant called the, Casa Nostra, a pizzeria in Rue de la Fontaine au Roi. A car had just been driving past the pizzeria, until the men within the car opened fire and killed at least five people. A witness had said that the most chilling thing he'd seen was that after the men had gunned down as much people as they could, they got in the car and drove away very, very slowly and very, very calmly, as if nothing had happened._

 _The fifth attack happened in the La Belle Equipe bar, in Rue de Charonne. Basically, what happened in the pizzeria and restaurant happened here. At least 19 people died there that night._

 _The sixth attack happened in the Bataclan, at the Boulevard Voltaire. A concert held by the Eagles of Death Metal was happening within it; an hour into the concert, men clothed in black and equipped with weapons surged forward and began shooting into the crowd. It was a bloodbath, many had died there, and it was fucking terrible. At least 89 people had died there, and I don't know how many died outside of the boulevard where a suicide bomber had detonated on the streets._

 _The seventh attack had happened_ by a freaking Mcdonalds of all fucking places _. A bomb had detonated there, and it hadn't been said how many people had died there. Of all the places a bomb could detonate, it just had to be near a Mcdonalds, where families and friends hung out at and had a great time._

 _What was the worst part was that my friend's mother had gotten caught up in the explosion that happened near Mcdonalds. My friend told me that her mother had third-degree burn marks over the left side of her body, and that she had lost a lot of blood. But she was still alive, but only barely hanging. My friend told me that she was scared, scared for her mother, because her mother could have died that night, and might even die now if she didn't make it._

 _I may be a Filipino, but I know a tragedy when I fucking see one. **THIS**_. _This right here that happened in Paris, France and to all its victims, was a fucking massacre. It was terrible, horrifying, and I swear I cried as well._

 _Because this was the same exact thing that happened on the day I was born. On December 30, bombs had exploded within Metro Manila, the capital of the Philippines and where I had been born. The bomb had occurred in five different sites, killing a lot of people. I don't know exactly what happened that day, considering I'd just been born and all, but it was terrible._

 _Ironically, I got my third name from that incident. My grandfather had given me that name, since what had happened in Manila had reminded him of what had happened in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii._

 _And to hear what had happened in Paris made it all the more worse. Because imagine how many people had died that day? I read on the internet that at least 129 people had died, and 352 were currently injured. Imagine the number of deaths rising, because of some Muslim revolution?_

 _I'm not saying that Muslims are bad. I have friends who are muslims, and we respect one another's religion. But to get_ attention _, of all things, by killing people? That's just wrong. It's terrible, and you're defiling the faith you have to your religion._

 _And to those who are blaming Syrians, will you just fucking stop it? It's not Syrians in general at fault for this. It's the ISIS. The ISIS declared war, not the Syrians. So leave them Syrians alone. So what if most Syrians are ISIS? Are ALL of them a part of ISIS? No. So keep your fucking mouth shut if you have nothing nice to say to them, you fucking dumbasses who can't read and comprehend the news properly._

 _Look...I guess I'm honoring those who've died because of the bombing incidents in Paris, France by sharing my own reaction to such an incident. I wrote this chapter up as soon as possible, so that I could share._

 _Look, you don't have to do this because I'm not asking or forcing you to do this._

 _But, the task I'd like to give you today, if you haven't done it..._

 _...Is to pray for all the people who've died because that, to the people who've lost a loved one because of that, and to everyone else who've experienced incidents similar to this._

 _And if you're an atheist, at least look up at the sky and wish for those who've died a better life in the afterlife or up there, and for those who've lost their loved one to continue living on with happy memories of their loved ones._

 _I'm not asking you to share or post the incident on social networking sites to show your support of what had happened, or change you profile pics into the French flag to show your support of France._

 _You're only human. I'm only human. We show support in the littlest or greatest of things_ — _and right now, for me, posting or sharing your support of what had happened in France doesn't do jackshit for the families who've lost their loved ones, aside from remind them of what they had lost. So the best thing, in my opinion, is to pray or wish for them._

 _Because right now, as you read this line, we're only humans mourning for humans who've lost their lives. There are no races, or language barriers, or religions, or society standings, or even countries separating us right now._

 _We're only humans. All of us. So please, I'm begging of you, join the rest of us in mourning to those who have died._

 _Thank You for you time._

* * *

 **May France and its citizens stay strong.**

 **And let them know, that they have the world behind their backs to help them.**


	8. Chapter 8

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairing(s) (for this chapter)** **:** _Venompoint/Domino_

* * *

 **Cybertron's Units of Time:**

Astrosecond: .498 Earth second  
Nano-klik: 1 Earth second (I don't normally use this though...)  
Klik: 1.2 Earth minutes  
Breem: 8.3 Earth minutes.  
Groon: 1 Earth hour  
Cycle: 1.25 Earth hours  
Joor: 8 Earth Hours  
Solar Cycle: 1 Earth day  
Lunar Cycle: 1 Earth month  
Orn: 13 Earth days  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar Cycle: 7.5 Earth months  
Meta-Cycle: 13 Earth months.  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8**

 _ **In Which I Uncover Things**_

* * *

When someone came into the medbay, Vitallium had been cleaning his own medical tools, his neon green optics gleaming as a satisfied smile curved his dermas upwards at the way his tools reflected the reflection of his faceplates. Assuming it had been Rouge who had entered the room, Vitallium used his pede to a push a cart filled with sets of medical tools that weren't his away from him and towards the female medic.

"Good, you came in early. Go shine your tools before I start teaching you about the basic mechanisms of cosmic rust, and how to best prevent it," Vitallium said nonchalantly, subspacing his rag back into his inventory, then turning on his heel to face his apprentice.

Only to pause in confusion when his gaze landed on the bulky and heavily-amoured form of Crashthrough.

"...Crashthrough?" Vitallium echoed, tilting his helm to the side as he furrowed his optical ridges. The silver-painted mech performed a light scan on his closest companion, his confusion becoming much more evident when he detected no signs of injuries. "What are you doing here? Did something happen?"

 _::Again?::_ He asked with a tinge of exasperation through their private comm. line.

Crashthrough blinked, his bright yellow optics really highlighting the dark shade of red his faceplates were. "What? No! Sheesh, can't I even visit a friend now?" He said, shifting his gaze to the side as he rubbed the back of his neck joint, looking faintly anxious for a moment before it was forced to be replaced by amusement.

Vitallium raised an eyebrow, having clearly seen the anxiousness that had passed over his friend's faceplates. Vitallium had known Crashthrough for _vorns_ , and, unlike the others, he wouldn't be so easily fooled by his friend's glitchy acting, nor would he feel so hesitant in asking for the actual truth. "I know you, Crashthrough. Know who you _actually_ are. So don't even think of fooling me with that 'Just dropping by for a friendly visit' glitch of yours—because frankly, you're a _terrible_ actor," Vitallium said with a snort as he crossed his servos together over his rumbling chest plates.

Crashthrough jutted out his bottom derma, twisting his faceplates into a pout as he raised both of his servos in the universal gesture of surrender. "Woah. There's no need for my acting skills to be brought up," he said with a frown.

Vitallium scoffed, rolling his optics. "It's not _just_ your acting skills, Crashthrough. You just plainly suck at _hiding_."

Crashthrough's frown deepened as he huffed. "Okay, okay, I _understand_. I'd be the worst spy ever," he said with a sulky tone.

Vitallium snorted through his olfactory sensors. "Not that you ever were one," he said loudly, giving Crashthrough the same look he gave him the day they met for the very first time.

Naturally, Crashthrough didn't notice the look that was being sent his way; on another note, he _did_ recognize the words that had been said to him. "Not that I ever was one," he confirmed with a firm bob of his helm. "I'd be the worst spy ever," he chuckled.

"Not really," Vitallium stated loudly. "Considering that you're still here as _Crashthrough_ instead of—"

" _ **Stop,**_ " Crashthrough spoke loudly, firmly, and dangerously, his once calm and amused faceplates having twisted themselves into a feral and dark expression. "You—...You _promised_ that you'd never say that designation, _ever_. It's worthless. As worthless as the mech that his faction, _his brothers_ , left behind for dead," Crashthrough snarled, keeping his servos close to his frame, his hands clenching and unclenching themselves into tight fists and clawed, open hands.

Vitallium stared at the mech that considered him as his closest friend, patiently waiting for the mech to continue talking, since that was what Crashthrough was worst at. After all, practice makes perfect, more or less.

"I'm _Crashthrough_ now. Not—not _that_ anymore. I have friends now, a _family_ , that actually cares for me, and—and wouldn't abandon me like _them_ ," Crashthrough finished firmly, looking perfectly assured with what he'd just said, and Vitallium didn't have the spark to beat him back down, like he'd done so before, when Crashthrough had still been lost in that dark, empty hole that blurred his processors into thinking that what he had been doing wrong was the right thing to do.

So, the silver-painted mech changed the topic. "So why did you come here, Crashthrough?" Vitallium asked with a raised optical ridge. "I doubt that you just came here by for a 'friendly visit.'"

And then, as if nothing had happened—as if memories, memories that were both joyous and forlorning, hadn't passed through Crashthrough's processor, making him remember things that were better off having been forgotten for eternity, had never happened. The sour expression painting Crashthrough's expression was immediately replaced by the same anxious one that he came in wearing.

"Well, about that," the large, dark blue and silver armored mech started off, rubbing the back of his neck joint once again as he glanced off to the side. "I have a little favor to ask of you."

Judging by the uneasiness that he felt swirling within his energon tanks, Vitallium knew that he wouldn't like this little favor that Crashthrough would be asking from him.

* * *

It had started out to be a very good solar cycle. When she onlined that day, everything was quiet and still, and the cold air that wafted in her room made her warm and sometimes overheated engine cool down. When she got out of her bed, she didn't have the usual ache that would pound relentlessly against her processors.

Basically, it had seemed like today would be like any other good day, which was incredibly rare—for Rouge, that is.

However, when she entered the medbay, the illusion of peace had immediately shattered when she saw Crashthrough, the mech who would even run away from _her_ (and he better) when she got angry, stand his ground against Vitallium, who was the calmest and most patient mech she could ever know, screaming his head off at the much larger and bulkier mech.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO TAKE HER OUT?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRAGGING PROCESSORS?! HAVE YOU _**FINALLY**_ GLITCHED OVER?!" Vitallium roared, his neon green optics taking on a yellowish hue—which, by angry Vitallium standards, was quite _angry_ , and Rouge took a step back to avoid being noticed by the furious Vitallium who looked about ready to swing his servo blades out and execute Crashthrough himself.

As Vitallium himself had taught her so many vorns ago: when a medic is mad, _don't_ get their attention. Attention is bad, coming from a furious medic; since it usually comes along with temporary, yet excruciatingly painful, injuries.

"I meant what I said, Vitallium," Crashthrough spoke firmly and confidently, despite the way his shoulders trembled and his yellow optics kept nervously shifting to the side. "I want to take Galactica out to see the outside world," he said with a determined raise of his chin.

Rouge shuttered her optics at what Crashthrough had said, the nanites in her processors working at a steady yet slow speed so that she could properly comprehend the dark blue and silver armored mech's words. As she processed his words, she hadn't been able to see Vitallium pick up a sledge hammer from the side—which was only used to flatted out the dents of the spare parts that Venompoint and Domino would usually bring back home from one of their expeditions—and wave it around threateningly.

"Don't make me beat you up with this, Crashthrough," Vitallium threatened, gripping the wooden part of the mostly steel-made tool made weapon. "You know as much as I do that what you're asking for is simply _outrageous_!" He exclaimed, taking a step forward to which Crashthrough mimicked by taking a step backward.

Crashthrough wasn't an idiot. A fool, maybe. A wild and dangerous and sometimes stupidly brave fool sometimes, but nonetheless a fool determined to get his way recognized. "It isn't as outrageous as it seems to be, Vit," he tried to console, but quickly snapped his mouth shut when the medic raised the sledge hammer.

"Are you _blind_? Are you _deaf_? Or have your processors finally _malfunctioned_?!" Vitallium demanded, his neon yellowish-green optics taking on a lighter hue— _which was fragging bad_ , Crashthrough thought as he took another step back. "Anywhere outside of our territory is _NOT_ a good place for a femme, much less a a femme that had been raised on an organic planet and had just _recently_ been upgraded into her adult frame!" He roared, making sure the emphasize the _really_ important parts. "Crashthrough—have you seen what mechs did to femmes when they were still around?!" Vitallium asked, his faceplates twisting into an expression of disappointment and anger.

And _that_ was enough to snap Rouge out of her thoughts, and make her decide that enough was enough, and that the risk of Vitallium shifting his attention over to her could go frag itself.

"I..." Crashthrough started, managing to say one word before his voicebox completely failed him, having nothing else to say or think of.

"We were violated," Rouge offered, her voice coming out casually, but when the two mechs snapped their helms to face her, their optical ridges raised upward in surprise, they could see the dark look in the red optics of the eccentrically painted femme. Almost calmly, Rouge strolled towards them, and passed by them without a second glance as she made her way towards her set of tools that were in need of even more shinning. "Discriminated. Raped. _Defiled_ ," Rouge listed off as nonchalantly as she could. "We were treated as livestock. Things for pleasure. Dispensers for energon. We were treated like something less than Cybertronians, and more like beasts," she said, her red optics going glassy as she _remembered_.

Images of what had happened to her fellow sisters—sisters that she'd come to know, and sisters that she'd never have the chance of knowing—flashed before her processor. A pretty, dark purple and bright yellow-painted, and delicately framed femme being dragged behind a collapsed building by a group of mechs with dark and hungry grins, her wails forever haunting Rouge's darkest memories; the corpse of a femme with the standard black and white paintjob of an Enforcer, her dead frame having been desecrated as mechs crowded around it to collect her life energon for their fuel, her wide, greyed optics having the prettiest eyelashes Rouge had ever had the pleasure of seeing whenever she reminisced of the terrible things she didn't stop; the corpses of femmes piled up high, their grey eyes and greying frames a reminder of the hardships of being a femme in the middle of this blasted war.

For Rouge, war hadn't had a good effect on her life. But really? Whose life has war ever affected in a good way?

"Primus, Rouge," Vitallium breathed, immediately moving towards her so that he could lay a comforting hand upon her rigidly tense shoulder. "I didn't notice you coming in. Really, I didn't," he sincerely said, trying his best to soothe the scarily blank femme who had an internal storm raging within her. "I didn't mean to remind you about _that_ ," he tried.

"I...No, it's fine," Rouge waved it off with a shake of her helm. "I've already fragging accepted it a _loooong_ time ago," she drew out, her optical lashes lowering a bit as a a particular memory involving a sparkling passed through her processor. "Besides," she started off with a rough edge, pursing her ruby red lips for her starting tone. "What were the two of you even fighting about?" She asked, immediately changing the topic, despite knowing the main reason of what they were fighting about. She wasn't deaf, or amnesiac like Crashthrough, thank you very much.

Vitallium exasperatedly rolled his eyes, to which Crashthrough noticed and responded to with an indignant huff.

"This idiot over here," the green opticed mech said, jabbing his thumb towards the yellow-opticed one. "Wants to bring Galactica out to see the, what do you call it?" He turned to look at Crashthrough inquisitively.

"Outside world," Crashthrough supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, the outside world, _very_ articulate of you to use," Vitallium deadpanned.

Rouge shuttered her optics, turning to face Crashthrough so that she could place her full and undivided attention on him. "And _why_ exactly do you want to bring a femme, much less a a femme that had been raised on an organic planet and had just recently been upgraded into her adult frame, into the outside world?" She asked, and she could hear Vitallium muttering a smug yet quiet, _That's what_ I _said_.

Crashthrough winced underneath the scrutinization of _two_ medics. "So that I can show her around?"

Rouge pauses at the exact same time Vitallium releases a rather heavy and stress-filled vent.

"You want to take Lax out for _sightseeing_ , of _all_ things?" Rouge incredulously asks him, to which Crashthrough slowly nods in affirmation to. Placing a begrudging hand on her forehead, Rouge massages the flexible, metal skin, trying her best to rid away the ache she could feel thrumming underneath her touch. "Hate to fragging break it to you, Crashthrough, but there's _nothing_ worth sightseeing for, aside from destroyed buildings and the corpses of offlined Cybertronians," she deadpanned blankly.

"And really," Vitallium butted in. "How _exactly_ are you planning on bringing Galactica out? The moment you take a step out of our territory, you'll be bombarded with mechs intent on—"

"Desecrating," Rouge supplied helpfully.

"—desecrating her," he finished briefly.

"I've already got that covered," Crashthrough casually waved off, and he earned a pair of dubious stares. "What? Really! I do! I still have that big aft cloak that we got from that one corpse orns ago, and it's not like it's weird for a mech to go walking around covered from helm to pede in a cloak," he said with a shrug.

Rouge raised an optical ridge, appearing to look skeptical. "And you're just gonna, what? Show her around?"

Crashthrough rubbed the back of his helm, looking quite sheepish with himself. "Well...I also wanted to show her the Gladiatorial Pit..."

A tense and awkward silence encompassed the entire room, both medics looking at the only gladiator in the room with blank and unreadable expressions.

"Vit," Rouge said, turning to her mentor. "Permission to stab him with my scalpels?"

Vitallium gave Rouge a considering look, pleasure shinning bright ins his thankfully normal neon green optics that no longer took a yellowish hue as it had just a while ago. "Permission denied, Rou," he vented out, his shoulder slumping.

Rouge frowned deeply, a whine pitching out from her vocal cords.

Vitallium snorted at his apprentice's childishness and smacked her at the back of the helm. "Oh grow up, will you? You're 8,054 vorns old, so act like you're age."

Rouge huffed. "Don't you know it's fragging rude to reveal a Cybertronian's age?" She taunted, her gaze narrowing into a glare.

"Don't you know it's fragging rude to curse your mentor?" Vitallium shot back, making Rouge snort.

"I don't know if I should feel uncomfortable being in a room with a femme who wants to stab me multiple times, and a mech who wouldn't mind said femme stabbing me multiple times," Crashthrough piped up.

"You asked for it," both medics said at the same time.

Crashthrough raised both os his servos in the universal gesture of surrender, _again_. "Hey, I was just _asking_ for Vitallium's permission if I could take the femme out just for today," he pointed out.

"An _impossible_ request, if I might add," Vitallium snidely commented.

"Look, I won't be taking her to the arena where she could get lost in a crowd of mechs," Crashthrough said with a roll of his optics. "I'll be taking her to a friend's personal suite so that she could watch from there, safe and _far_ away from perverse mechs," he offered.

The optical ridges of both medics rose, and the two looked at one another with unreadable expressions.

"And this friend of yours is...?" Rouge, looking even more skeptical if that was even possible.

"A very close friend," Crashthrough nodded, and by the gleam of realization in Vitallium's optics, Crashthrough was safe to say that his closest friend had figured out _who_ exactly he was talking about.

"Dear Primus," Vitallium breathed out, his optics widening in something akin to a terrible combination of horror and terror. "Don't tell me you're talking about _that_ mech," he said, moving over to a berth to steady his trembling legs.

Rouge shuttered. "Mech? What mech?"

"C'mon, Vit. He's not that bad, _honestly_. You just got off on a bad start. Trust me, once you get to know him, you'll know he's a really great mech," Crashthrough tried to persuade.

Vitallim shuddered at the onslaught of memories that invaded his processor from _that_ particular meeting. "Not _that_ bad? If you're planning on keeping Galactica away from perverted mechs, you're doing a _horrible_ job at that. He's the most perverted mech ever! In fact," Vitallium paused, switching his attention to Rouge. "You know what, Rouge? Fine. I'm allowing you to give in to your childishness. Consider your request to stab him with your scalpels, _accepted_ ," he practically snarled out the order.

"No, wait, what mech are you talking about, guys?" Rouge asked, looking incredibly bewildered as she looked between her enraged medical mentor and her cowering friend for more than three vorns, more or less. "What fragging mech?" She demanded from them.

Vitallium vented out deeply. "The most annoying and narcissistic and perverted mech one could ever have the _displeasure_ of meeting," he drawled out.

"He's not that bad!" Crashthrough protested.

Vitallium stared blandly at his companion. "He _grabbed_ me, Crashthrough. He _grabbed_ me, and you know as much as I do that I _hate_ grabbing, especially when it concerns my slagging _AFT_ _!_ " He exclaimed, emphasizing his words by dramatically throwing his hands up in the air.

"Wait, what?" Rouge's optics were as wide as they could get. "You got _groped?_ When? Who? _How?_ " She asked, completely mystified yet in awe of the groper's gall.

"Yes. On my first cycle of working at the Gladiatorial Pit. His so called 'friend.' And it _just happened_ ," Vitallium sharply answered gritting his teeth as shame and embarrassment swelled up within his chest, causing his spark to pulse with boiling anger. "One minute I was just tending to this gladiator who managed to get his servo ripped off his frame without bleeding to death, then the next I feel something grabbing my aft," he shuddered.

"In his defense, he didn't know that you were the new medic," Crashthrough tried to soothe.

"And is that supposed to make me feel any better?" Vitallium blankly asked.

Crashthrough rubbed the back of his helm, smiling a sheepish smile. "Ugh... Did it work?"

Vitallium made a very, _very_ angry noise before turning back to shinning his tools, ever happy to just _ignore_ the problems in his life.

* * *

I would like to personally congratulate myself for having been able to survive a whole Lunar cycle—which, for your information, is equivalent to one Earth month—and an orn on Cybertron, without getting significantly traumatized, raped, and/or killed. However, I can't say the same thing for being molested or assaulted, since Vitallium and Venompoint had already done this to me on my _first_ day on Cybertron, respectively of course.

I could tell that Cybertronians were pretty _hospitable_ hosts.

Anyone hearing the oh so loved sarcasm in my voice? No? Then get yourselves checked up, because you're lacking dry humor.

Right now, I'm somewhere a little closer towards the end of our territory—I've started to call it _our_ territory, instead of _their_ territory, because this place was as good as home on Cybertron compared to anywhere else on this Primus-forsaken planet to me. I didn't exactly know the complete coordinates of where we currently are, or how many miles we are from the residential area of our territory, but all I know is that we are _very_ far from where the others are now.

Domino and Venompoint. Venompoint and Domino. It seems to me that for most of the time, wherever one was, the other was sure to follow; because most of the time I'd go out to train or to simply walk around, the two would be together, talking, arguing, laughing (more like Domino laughing whilst Venompoint looked extremely like he wanted to commit suicide then and there for his companion's corniness), and the occasional grappling. I'd learned, early on, that I'd encounter them without the other only on extremely rare occasions, as Rouge would confide to me.

Which was weird. Because out of the several meetings I've had with Domino and Venompoint, most of them were between me and either one of them, so meeting them together was pretty rare for me.

Anyways, you might be wondering why on Earth are we somewhere near the edge of our territory? And _no_ , the answer isn't to bring me outside of our territory, no matter how much I begged or groveled for, the two scavengers had made it completely clear to me that I would _never_ take one step out of our territory, and that I'd have to go through them first if I'd ever try.

No, the true reason for why we were even here in the first place was because—cue dramatic drum roll—they were going to teach me how to _transform!_ And by transform, I mean switch to my alternative mode.

Domino had been the first to transform, and I watched in amazement as he just _did_. Limbs shifted and folded into parts that I never knew a Cybertronian's body could flex and twist like that, and I invested great attention into how the pair of wheels attached to the back of his shoulders and knees became the wheels of a car that looked kind of like a Ford Mustang from this one SEMA car show.

I stared at Domino's sleek, indigo-colored alt. mode with streaks of bright yellow, completely transfixed by its beauty. My gaze then traveled to the raised blaster attached to his hood and to the pair of firearms attached to his doors, a silent question forming in my mind for, well, _those_.

And then next came Venompoint, who, with a _lot_ of pleading from Domino, finally relented and transformed into, well, a _very_ big pick-up truck with very big wheels. Unlike Domino's sleek and much smaller form that just screamed _built for speed_ , Venompoint's alt. mode was bulky and large and roared _built for plowing you fraggers down_. I raised an optical ridge at the spike coming out of the center of his wheels, as well at the firearms hooked to his sides.

Was it just me, or did Venompoint and Domino look like they were just heading into war?

"Woah," I breathed, admiring their alt. modes, because _damn_ were they hot pieces of machinery. "That was..." I fumbled with my words, trying to find an appropriate adjective to use to describe them right now.

"Awesome? Amazing? Fragtastic?" Domino suggested, twisting his wheels from side to side, and wiggling his butt form side to side, his entire frame practically vibrating in anticipation.

I covered my mouth, hiding the smile on my faceplates as I thought how freaking _adorable_ Domino was right now.

"I bet she's thinking how slagging _hard_ this'll be for her, just like with her face guard," Venompoint scoffed, the engine in his hood rumbling lowly at his taunting words.

I narrowed my optics at him, feeling delight scourge through me when Domino slammed his car door open and into Venompoint's side, causing the mech to let out a surprised yelp and start bickering with his closest friend; but...Venompoint _did_ have a point. Would transforming into my alt. mode be, well, hard? Or would it be as simple and easy as deactivating and activating my face guard now?

The familiar whirring sounds of gears grinding against one another and metal parts shifting and twisting into place resounded through the air, and I snapped myself out of my thoughts to concentrate on the current matter at hand. I blinked, and focused my attention back on the two mechs who had transformed back into their root forms.

"Now," Domino started off. "You try," he chirped with an exuberant grin.

I shuttered my optics, staring blankly at the only mech that was smaller than me, before I deadpanned loudly, "How?" I could vaguely hear Venompoint venting out loudly at his companion's, er, _stupidity_ in teaching, and I turned my attention to him just in time to see his palm meet his forehead.

Ah. The famous facepalm. So it _is_ known to Cybertronians. Good to know.

"Domino, that's not how you teach someone. Especially if it's a femme who's been raised on an organic planet and has just recently been upgraded into her adult frame," Venompoint reprimanded the much smaller mech with a deep growl.

Domino shuttered his optics up at Venompoint, then turned his optics to look at me so that he could shutter them again. "Oh yeah, I forgot about where Lax came from" he said, realization creeping onto his faceplates, and Venompoint vented out loudly as I stared at him with wondering eyes. How could he have forgotten about _that_? He'd asked me several times before what my home planet had been like—and for him to forget about something like that...

As if having sensed the hurt swelling within my chest, Domino's EM field crashed into mine, making me jolt upright, my orange optics widening in surprise at the sudden sensation of another energy field connecting with mine. I snapped my gaze to meet Domino, but he didn't seemed faced by his rather rude intrusion into my personal space, if the waves of comfort and embarrassment flooding from his EM field were anything to go by.

"Ehehe, sorry, Lax. I didn't completely forget about that. It's just that, sometimes, you act so, well, _normal_ , and sometimes I forget that you were sparked on an organic planet," Domino tried to explain, sheepishly rubbing the back of his helm as he gave me a smile that said that he was amused with his own antics.

I couldn't help but smile back at him, sending a pulse of happiness and amusement through our temporary connection. "Well, it's good to know that I'm normal," I laughed.

"Oh, but you're the farthest thing from normal on Cybertron right now," Venompoint's voice spoke up, and the two us turned our attention to him. "I mean, you were created and raised on an organic planet, crashed into Cybertron in a space pod, and one of the last femmes on Cybertron," he continued, and my shoulder armor immediately flared out at the condescending tone in his voice, because dammit! The bastard was looking down on me again! "And apparently, you don't even know the most basic things that even a _sparkling_ should know," he said lowly, looking at me with narrowed red optics that just _oozed_ suspicion. "Are you sure you were ever a sparkling before?" He asked me, staring at me with so much suspicion that made the foreign object within me _hurt_.

I would have lashed out at him— _because deep down, in that primal coding that Primus had installed into my processors the klik I onlined, I knew that he was calling me a brainwashed knockoff with a spark too young to even be in an adult frame, and that was an insult that made the foreign object within me **hurt**_ —but Domino had beaten me to it by delivering a vicious kick to Venompoint's shin.

"Oh hush, will you," Domino scolded the black mech, a disappointed look painted across his faceplates. "Just because Lax doesn't know the basics, doesn't mean that she's a knockoff," he told him.

The armor on my shoulder relaxed, and I was incredibly thankful that Domino was here to intervene between any fight Venompoint and I would have had. "Knockoff?" I asked the indigo-painted, yellow-streaked mech, who's angry attention had been ripped away from Venompoint.

Domino shot Venompoint one last glare, before he vented out roughly. He opened his mouth to say something, before he pressed his dermas together, as if reluctant to share information with me. Finally, with a defeated look on his faceplates, Domino answered, "Knockoffs are Transformers that have an adult frame and an adult processor, but deep down, their just new-sparks AKA newly-created sparks."

I cocked my helm at him. "Um...could you repeat that for me again?" I asked, smiling a bit sheepishly. I didn't immediately understand things as fast as Ciara did, so I needed little bit more explaining.

Domino gave me a patient smile. "Knockoffs are Transformers that never had their sparks placed in a sparkling frame or a youngling frame, but instead immediately placed into an adult frame. Knockoffs are adult Transformers on the outside, but deep down, in their sparks and codings, they're just sparklings that don't know any better," he explained, and understanding dawned on me. "Before the war, knockoffs were pretty rare to come by, because even those from the lower castes started out at least started as younglings, before they were upgraded into their adult frames a vorn later," he said, and I nodded to process the information, feeling my energon tanks swirl at the thought of babies being placed into adult bodies so that they could _work._

"But now," Venompoint butted into our conversation, and I shifted my attention to him, too curious to even be annoyed by his stupid voice. "It's a different story altogether, since there's a fragging _war_ going on right now," he said with a dark frown, which wasn't really rare since he frowned all the time, but the murderous glint in his eyes _was_ pretty rare. Angry, sure; annoyed, most definitely, but never _murderous_. The only time I'd seen that kind of look in Venompoint's optics was when he'd looked at the 'con I'd buried not so long ago.

Now that I'd mentioned it, it seemed that only Crashthrough and I knew about me burying that 'con, since the others never asked me about it, nor did they even look like they even _knew_ about my most recent deed.

"I remember, that twenty vorns ago, both factions made a gestalt team of knockoffs," Venompoint said, and the tired expression on his faceplates spoke of the years of suffering he'd lived through. Then suddenly, he turned to me. "Do you know what a gestalt team is?" He asked me, impatiently raising an optical ridge.

I nodded. "Yeah. A group of combiners that can, well, combine to make a really big Transformer AKA a gestalt," I answered. "Shatterwing told me about them," I added, just to make sure that he knew from where I'd gotten the information from.

At the inquiring look he sent me, it seemed to me that he'd forgotten who Shatterwing was. "My brother," I furtherly elaborated, to which he nodded to, satisfied that I hadn't gotten the information from a mech who'd been intruding on our territory.

"Anyways, so both factions made a gestalt team of knockoffs, twenty or so vorns ago," Venompoint repeated. "The Decepticons were the first to create them from Vector Sigma. Megatron called them the Stunticons, and when they combined they formed the gestalt, Menasor. To counter that, the Autobots used Vector Sigma too to create the Aerialbots, that when combined, forms the gestalt, Superion," he explained.

Feeling a little excited that Venompoint was sharing information with me again—even though this was information I already knew, but still!—I decided to add a few more details. "So Megatron made the Stunticons because he noticed that he was losing in terms of ground power, and Optimus Prime created the Aerialbots to not only counter the Decepticons but also so that he could have air power, right?"

Venompoint shuttered his optics. "Yes. Let me guess, this brother of yours told you about that too?" He asked me, a look of doubt on his faceplates.

I gave him a sickly sweet smile in return. "No. I just thought about it, since Domino told me about both factions. He said that the Autobots were superior in terms of ground power because most of their soldiers had ground alt. modes, whereas the Decepticons were superior in terms of air power because they had the Seekers," I elaborated. "We haven't gotten to the gestalt teams yet," I added.

Venompoint looked at Domino, and the short mech nodded in agreement. With a grunt, Venompoint turned to me to continue his lecture. "Anyways, since both factions had gestalts now, the war became worse, and Cybertron became more of a wasteland than it had been a few orns before," he said with a tone of finality, which meant that he didn't want to talk about the topic anymore.

I thinned my dermas, before looking at Domino, determined to get much more information. "Do you know the mechs who formed Menasor and Superion?" I asked, because I needed to be sure of which information was correct. For all I knew, this universe could have had different mechs in place of the original members of Menasor and Superion.

Domino gave me a small smile. "Eager to learn, Lax?" He teased, and I could feel my cheekplates flush a bit. It was kind of embarrassing for me to keep asking questions from other people, even though deep down I knew that it wouldn't be wrong of me to do so; after all, to them, I was only a clueless femme who didn't know any better. "Both gestalts had five core members. Menasor had Motormaster, Drag Strip, Dead End, Wildrider, and Breakdown; Superion had Silverbolt, Air Raid, Fireflight, Skydive, and Slingshot," he listed off. "But Menasor had 'extra members,'" he said, quoting the words with his fingers.

My back immediately straightened at that part, my optical ridges furrowed in confusion. "Extra members?" I asked, the word sounding foreign on my tongue, because this had been the first time I'd ever head of this. In the Transformers cartoons, 'extra members' had never been mentioned, not even once.

Domino nodded. "Yes. Extra members were mechs who had the capability to replace a team member, or act as an additional limb when they combine. Menasor had Offroad and Blackjack," he said with a frown. "I'm not sure if Superion had any extra members, since my contact left Cybertron before he could tell me anything..." he grumbled.

My optics widened. "You had a spy for both factions?" I asked, amazed, wondering how he could have accomplished such a feat. Surely someone would have already been caught if they so much as tried.

Domino shuttered his optics. "Spy?" He said aloud, looking at me as if I'd just grown two heads, before he threw his head back and laughed _loudly._

Furrowing my optical ridges, I frowned deeply and turned to Venompoint to ask why Domino was laughing at me, only to pause when I saw him laughing as hard, if not harder, as Domino.

I crossed my servos, puffing my cheeks, and began silently fuming. Venompoint, I could get mad at, and maybe throw a few hits here and there, despite them never landing on their intended target, but Domino? Sweet, helpful, and funny Domino? _Never_. So I allowed the little mech to laugh, deciding that hitting Venompoint in front of Domino without a good enough reason _might_ make Domino mad at me.

After all, Dominompoint/Venomino ❤️. (Yeah. Rouge and I had some pretty hard times deciding what their couple name should be...)

Finally, after Domino managed to compose himself enough, I raised an optical ridge. "Well?"

"Ahahaha, sorrs," Domino chortled, his dermas stretched into a wide grin. "I—Sorry, Lax, but I ain't that great," he said, scratching his cheek in a sheepish gesture. "No, what I meant by 'contacts' I actually mean friends," he explained.

"And by friends," Venompoint butted in, _again_ , snickers coming in between of his words. "He means _tools_."

Domino scowled at the much larger mech, and elbowed Venompoint in the side. The larger mech went down with a groan, but he didn't complain about it, still trying to find his inner peace to calm his laughter. "Don't listen to him. I don't _use_ other mechs, like he does," he told me, and emphasized his point by jabbing a thumb at the large mech clutching his size. "I have _friends_. Well, more like acquaintances that I meet in bars and get to know once they're over-energized," he explained to me.

I slowly nodded my head, realization dawning on my face. "Wait a minute, but Vitallium told me that 'bots and 'cons would shoot any Neutral down."

"Well, Vitallium was kinda right about that," Domino hummed, his engine rumbling deeply deep within his chassis. "But it was more of the 'cons who'd shoot us, than the 'bots. Them 'bots would rather leave us alone to die, or ignore our existences entirely. And besides, it's hard to know the difference between the bore and butt of a blaster if you're drunk of your afft" he said, before pausing. "What's a minute?"

I blinked, before venting out lightly at his incredibly innocent question. "It's my home planet's version of a klik" I answered.

"Ohhh. So wait a minute, means wait a _klik,_ " Domino tested, looking at me for approval, and I nodded my head. The adorable mech beamed brightly at me, making me smile at his motherfragging _adorableness_ that could kill me any minute now. "That's slagging _awesome_ ," he proclaimed. "And besides, I'm flattered that you think I have the power and skills to place spies into the faction," he said, his cheekplates flushing a pretty purplish pink color. "I mean, with Soundwave's practically impenetrable defense and Red Alert's over-the-top security, it's almost impossible to place spies into the factions," he said, humming a little as a reminiscent expression settled itself upon his faceplates. "I mean, the only times the factions were able to get into their enemy faction was if they spent _vorns_ of patience and practice and incredible firewalls," Domino quipped, and I nodded my helm slowly.

"I...see," I said slowly, before deciding that enough's enough, exchange of information could be pushed aside for later, and that transforming into my alt. mod was much more important. "So, transforming, please?" I politely asked.

"Oh yeah, forgot about that," Domino said, shuttering his optics, and giving me a sheepish grin. I vented out lightly, despite the small smile on my faceplates, and I could hear Venompoint chuckling a bit, which had caught my attention, because it was _legendary_ for Venompoint to be showing positive emotions without it being ironic or sarcastic. "Anyways, let's start with the basics, ne?" Domino said, and I nodded my helm, feeling the armor protecting my shoulder flare out in excitement as the foreign object within my chest jittered from side to side.

"Have you ever transformed before?" Domino asked me, and I shook my head. The small mech furrowed his optical ridges, and he and Venompoint shared a look that made my energon tanks darken a bit at the confusion and doubt on their faceplates. "Haven't you've ever transformed when you were a youngling? I'm not a medic, but I know enough that your first transformation should happen sometime after your first youngling upgrade..." Domino trailed off.

I felt panic bloom within me on the inside, but I remained a cool and calm facade as I frowned deeply. "Really?" I asked, trying my best to sound troubled. "Well, back on my home planet, we were forbidden to transform only until we were upgraded into our adult frames..." I said softly. "Something about us being too careless with our actions and accidentally killing an organic," I said, hoping that _my_ version for the legal age for driving could be modified into acceptable, Cybertronian-standard customs.

Judging by the understanding on Domino's faceplates, as well as on Venompoint's (thank _Potatoes_ ), my version was completely acceptable. Yay me.

"I see..." Domino trailed off, before looking up at Venompoint. "So, first thing's first, I'll have to teach you on how to check the data for your alt. mode," he said, before pausing. "Unless you already know that?"

I shuttered my optics, before I sent a silent command to my processor. _Data for my alternate mode please?_

Nada. Not a thing.

I shook my helm. "It was unadvisable for us younglings and sparklings to check or try out our—" goddammit, what was that word Vitallium used?! "—transformation modules," I said, thanking every deity I knew out there, even Unicron, for giving me this kind of luck of _remembering_ on time.

"Oh," Domino said with a crestfallen face. "But oh well, at least we'll be able to teach you lots of things, right, Venompoint?" He said with a large and bright grin up at the dark and naturally gloomy mech.

Venompoint looked down at his companion, and I watched with glee as his faceplates minutely softened for the small mech, before his usual scowl adorned his dermas and he gave a firm nod.

"I'll be in your care then," I said jokingly, even going so far as to give a bow— _because, hello? This was a perfect opportunity to act like a Japanese school girl, teehee!_

When I looked up, both mechs were giving me flattered (in Domino's regards) and disturbed (Venompoint's) looks, and I greedily ate it up.

"Anyways, let's get back to business, guys," Domino said. "So, Lax, you _really_ don't know how to check your alt. mode data?" he asked me again, just to make sure I think.

I shrugged.

He vented out, before moving closer to me so that he could grab my hands.

I immediately stilled, having not expected the contact, but I relaxed soon enough once our energy fields melded with one another, thrumming to a synchronized beat that made the foreign object within my flutter in joy and giddiness. My shoulder armor began flattening down, pressing against another part of armor that protected the sensitive parts of my shoulder joint, and I pressed my dermas together, venting out slightly.

"I don't think you'll need to use your data ports for this one," Domino said, chuckling, and I lifted an optical ridge at that, because, hello? What the hell was a data port? Wasn't that, like, the equivalent of a vagina for Transformers? Oh wait, that was a valve, never mind ahaha. "Now, I want you to close you optics, and concentrate, because you'll need to pull out the files for your alternate mode," he explained and I closed my eyes, following his orders.

 _Ey, brain of mine, could you pull out whatever he just said?_

And it did, much to my surprise and relief. A large, green box seemed to appear within my mindscape (I guess that's what it's called...) and there were two files within. One was labeled **G-6537** and the other was **F-5837**. Confused, I told this to Domino, and I could feel through his energy field that he was just as bewildered and confused as I was.

"Two files? Are you sure?" He asked me, and I nodded my helm. "Is that even possible, VP?" He asked the taller mech, and I could hear the aforementioned mech shifting from pede to pede, an action that I noticed he usually did whenever he was dubious over something he'd never heard of before.

"I...don't know," Venompoint answered, as if embarrassed to admit that he didn't know about _something_. "This is the first time I've heard of this."

There was a moment of silence between the three of us, and I hesitantly opened my optics to see that the two mechs were looking at me as if I was either the most interesting thing they've ever seen, or that I'd just grown a second helm.

"Well, at least she has kibble," Domino noted, looking me up and down. "Which means that she _has_ an alt. mode," he elaborated, looking up at Venompoint so that they could share a meaningful look. Finally, after a moment, Venompoint turned away to look at me.

"Turn around," Venompoint told me, his ruby red optics connecting with my orange ones. Narrowing my optics at him and resisting the urge to frown derisively at him, I obliged and turned on my heel. There was a moment of silence, and I could tell that Venompoint was examining me the same way Domino had "She has two pairs of wheels, one at the back of her tibulens and the other at her shoulder blades," he said aloud. "What I don't get are those things stupidly hanging at her back. I mean, what the slag _are_ those?" Venompoint questioned, sounding incredibly mystified.

In response, the unknown appendages on my back bristled at the comment, and I frowned at Venompoint's insult, but I let it slide, because even I didn't know what the hell those things on my back were. For all I know, Primus could have just added those so that whenever I got into a fight, _those_ would be the first things my opponent could grab on to as they fragged me to the ground.

...

That wasn't meant to be an innuendo. I _swear_ on my life, dammit.

I could feel curiosity and concern pulse from Domino's energy, making me nibble on my bottom derma. As if having sensed the large amount of worry within me, Domino immediately tried to mask his concern with comfort, trying to tell me that everything was going to be fine.

To be honest, it didn't. It only made it _worse._ I mean, you _never_ tell someone that everything's gonna be alright, because that'll just make it all the more obvious that _something_ is _clearly_ not alright.

"Hey, Lax, I'm just gonna do something, ok?" Domino told me, and I wordlessly nodded my helm. "Tell me if you can feel this, okay?" He says, and not an astrosecond later, I feel a slight touch ghost over the appendages on my back, making a shiver run down my spinal strut as the armor on my shoulder flared out at the uncomfortable feeling. "Do you feel that?" Domino asks me, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, and it...felt weird," I answered, crossing my servos in front of my chassis.

There was a moment of silence, before Domino spoke up again. "How about this?" He said, and I could feel his fingers trail over the smooth plane of one of the two appendages, before trailing it back up and positioning his hand on the very base where it connected to my back. I shuddered at the feeling of something that felt incredibly, well, _intimate_ , and I would have told him to stop, until he started rubbing circles. Pleasure immediately shot through me, my knees instantly feeling like jelly, and it took my whole willpower to prevent me from buckling down into the ground. It didn't seem to me that Domino realized just what his actions were doing to me, because he just continued rubbing circles into the base of my appendages, using his other hand to caress the sides, and doing a pretty good job in turning me insane; it took me a whole klik to realize that I was panting deeply, and I wondered briefly why my entire face felt hot and heavy.

And then suddenly, a jolt of excruciating pain went through me when I felt something clamp down on one of the appendages and just _squeeze_. Gasping, I instinctively pushed my shoulder forward, freeing the appendage from my captor's painful hold, and whirled around, my optics blazing with anger as I faced Domino who was looking at me with both of his servos raised, an amused expression on his faceplates.

I bared my dentals at him, and he gave me a goofy grin in return. "Woah there, no need to get angry, Lax. I just did that to confirm my suspicions," Domino said, his grin looking even more like a shit-eating one. I narrowed my optics at him, feeling irritation and annoyance bubble up within me, but the foreign object within my chassis tried to calm me down by sending me pulses and waves of comfort and serenity. Through our linked energy fields, Domino sent me waves of regret and amusement, telling me that he didn't meant to hurt me, and that my reaction was hilarious.

I huffed, crossing my servos again and turned to look away from him.

"Ehehehe, sorry, Lax, but it just had to be done," Domino said, sheepishly scratching his cheek. "Anyways, what did you feel?"

I gave him a glare, to which Venompoint responded to it with a warning growl but I ignored him. "Pain, what else?" I snapped

"Yeah, but what about _before_ that?" Domino asked me, and I raised an optical ridge at him, before I grudgingly told him what I had felt prior to the pain. A thoughtful expression overcame his faceplates, and he crossed his servos in front of his chassis and he seemed to think about something. I twitched when I felt Domino pull his energy field away from mine, instantly breaking our temporary connection, but I didn't comment about it. And then, after a moment of silence, Domino looked up at Venompoint. "It's just like Rouge's doorwings. Her sensors there are incredibly sensitive, and she reacts to the slightest touch," Domino informs him, and I raised an optical ridge at that because since _when_ did Rouge have doorwings?

"Um, excuse me," I piped up, and both mechs turned towards me, one of their optical ridges raised to tell me that I'd caught their attention. "Since _when_ did Rouge have doorwings? Because last time I checked, she _didn't_ ," I asked them, and the two mechs turned their helms to look at one another, another meaningful look shared between them.

Gosh. This was getting annoying, I swear. Did they _always_ have to do that? Share things that only _they_ know? Wow. Way to make a person feel like a third wheel guys. Way. To. Go. No wonder the two of you are, like, the biggest couple shipped in the group, because there certainly _is_ something going on between the two of you.

"She had doorwings," Venompoint gruffly said. "Before, I mean. Things happened, and she lost them," he explained shortly.

I furrowed my optical ridges, confused by such a short summary. "Huh? How did Rouge lose them?" I asked him, and the much larger much stays silent, and I could tell by the way he avoided my gaze that he wasn't all that comfortable with talking about it.

"It's not our story to tell, Lax," Domino butts in with a heavy vent. "If you want to know what happened, go ask her," he says with a tone of finality, his bright blue optics darkening by a shade as they stray towards the ground.

I shuttered my optics, before reluctantly nodding my helm. "O...kay..."

"Domino," Venompoint says loudly, turning to face the small mech who lifts his chin up at the mention of his designation. "If they're not doorwings, then what the frag are they?" He asks, and Domino turns towards me, a contemplative expression marring his faceplates.

"To be perfectly honest with you VP, I have no clue," Domino says. "They're not like any of the wings I've ever seen before. She can't be a flier, because her wings are too thin and long to even form a Cybertronian jet's," he ends frankly.

Venompoint stares blankly at Domino, before he turns towards me, exasperation clear on his faceplates. "Then if we don't know what she transforms into, why doesn't she just transform?" He says blandly, and an awkward yet contemplative silence that follows after his words.

Domino turns to face me, his dermas thinned, before he vents out loudly. "You're right, VP," he says quietly. "Lax, could you check the files of your alternate mode again?" He asks me, and I nod my helm, feeling the resolution to find out what I would transform into bloom within me.

Closing my optics, I sent the message to my processor, and the same green box appeared. I paused when I had to wonder which of the two files should I pick; without opening my optics, I asked Domino, "Which one should I open, Domino? G-6537 or F-5837?"

"Try G-6537," Venompoint says, and I did exactly what he said, opening the file. Almost immediately, a multitude of numbers and letters scrambled with one another with the occasional Cybertronian rune appearing every now and then appeared, and I was blinded by what to read first, because there was _a lot_ to read from.

"Uhhhh," I said quite intelligently as I internally stared at the coding lying in front of me.

"What do you see?" Domino asked.

I swallow nervous, at a loss of what I was seeing in my mindscape. "Um, a lot of numbers and letters?" I unsurely say, furrowing my optics. Most of what I'm reading right now doesn't make sense, but I tried my best to slowly read the very first sentence, deciphering it to the best of my capabilities.

"Good. That's good. Could you check out what your alt. mode's type is? And what's its model?" Domino requested, and I nodded my helm.

"Um, sure, but it'll take a while," I told him, all the while scrolling down the jumble of characters.

It took me a couple of kliks to find what he wanted me to look for, but after I read the information of my alternate mode, that was slowly starting to make sense after I've read it a bazillion times. "It says here that its a Grounder type, and that it's model is a..." I paused there, trying to understand the jumble of Cybertronian characters. "Uhhhhh," I trailed off, wondering how the fuck I could pronounce this shit.

"What? What's wrong?" Domino asked me, sounding alarmed, and I squeezed my closed optics.

"I can't read this," I answered. "It's...just a bunch of characters that I've never seen before," I told him.

There was a moment of silence, before Venompoint spoke up. "How many characters are there?" He asked me, his voice sounding serious.

I counted how many there were. "Three," I answered.

"What does the first one look like?" Venompoint asked me, and I furrowed my optical ridges, trying to identify it.

"The first one has a thick line in the middle, with a small crescent on the upper right and lower left part, and there are three lines that look more like claws sticking out of the thick line's sides," I described it to the best of my capability "The second one has the same thick line in the middle, with a square on the upper left and a circle on the middle right; the third one, though..." I paused, struggling to form the words to describe it.

"Stop," Venompoint immediately halted me, and I stilled. "I can already tell what your model is," he told me, and I can hear by the sound of his voice that he's displeased about something, but I didn't dare comment about it. "You can open your optics now," he told me, and I followed his orders.

I shuttered my optics few times, unaccustomed to the sudden invasion of light flaring from every side, but I grew to adapt to it a few nano-kliks later. I flickered my gaze from Domino—who was wearing a curious and expectant expression on his faceplates—to Venompoint—who, on the other hand, had a grim look on his faceplates that seemed to spell out death.

"Now," Venompoint started off, turning his helm to face Domino. "Teach her to transform," he said with a gesture of his hand towards me.

Domino and I shuttered our optics up at Venompoint. Domino opened his mouth to protest, but he paused, his bright blue optics dimming by a shade as he _seemed_ to process something. After a moment, Domino's optics cleared up, and he quietly closed his mouth, pursing his dermas with displeasure clear on his face. Judging by the warning look on Venompoint's faceplates, I could tell that the mech had told Domino something via private comm.

"Fine," Domino vented out loudly with a roll of his optics before he turned towards me. "Go over there, Lax," he ordered, pointing somewhere a little farther from where I was. I nodded my helm then went over to the spot he pointed at, and scooted back a little when he motioned to me take to some steps back. "Ok. Since your alt. mode is a grounder type, this'll be much each easier," he said, before venting in deeply.

I thinned my dermas, waiting for Domino's next instruction.

"When you activate your transformation cog, input the file name of your alternate mode, which, for you, is G-6537," Domino instructed, and just as I was about to do what he said, he suddenly stopped me. "Wait, let me continue first," he said, and I stilled, waiting for him to continue. "When you transform, you have to do this in order, 'kay?" He asked me, and I slowly nodded my helm. "Close your optics, thin your dermas, squint your olfactory sensors, offline your pain receptors, bow your helm, and _only_ your helm, and _don't_ resist the transformation," he told me, before taking a step back. " _Now,_ you can transform," he finished with an easygoing smile.

I blinked slowly at him, my processors inputting the information in a file that was to be stored somewhere important. Then, unsurely, I nodded. Following his instructions, I sent a quiet command to my processor.

A neon green box appeared within my mindscape, with the words, **Permission to Activate Transformation Cog?** , written on it. I acknowledged and accepted its permission, then pursed my lips as the content within the green box changed into what seemed like a blank space with the words, **Alt. Mode Designation:** , written on top. Unsurely, I inputted G-6537 into the blank space, then tensed when I saw the green screen blink out of existence with a 'pop!', only to be replaced by an orange box.

 **Would you like to place this Alt. Mode into Automatic?**

I stared at the words for a very long moment, reluctant to ask Domino about this, because I need to learn about something on my own, for Primus's sake! With a sigh, I accepted it, and I could hear a distinct 'ping!' resound through my mindscape.

And then, a green box appeared. **Transformation sequence activating... offlining pain Receptors...** , was what was read. Remembering Domino's words, I closed my optics, thinned my dermas, squinted my nose, then bowed my helm. The green box stayed within my mindscape, until the contents of the box changed.

 **Pain Receptors: Offlined. Transformation Sequence: Activating.**

There was a large difference between offlined and onlined pain receptors. When they were online, I could feel a _lot_ of things: like the cool air ghosting over my metallic frame, the ache in my shoulder joints, and the slight pain that throbbed from my servos and tibulens from having trained a few joors prior to this; however, with my pain receptors having been turned off, everything felt... _numb_. I couldn't feel a single thing. Not the air, and most certainly not the pain. My sense of touch had just _disappeared_.

Of course, at first, I'd felt panic. Panic because I couldn't _feel_ anything anymore—but the foreign object within me sent me a pulse of comfort and _everything will be alright, stay calm_. It sent me tranquility and peace to help calm me down, and after what felt like kliks to me, I did. Then suddenly, I could feel my frame _shifting_ into something. Metal parts began moving and sliding, joints began twisting and turning, and I could hear the sounds of whirring and locks being clicked shut.

If this was what transformation felt like—it was... _odd_ to say the least. I couldn't feel what was happening around me, but I _knew_ what was happening to me, with the lack of pain on my part, because I _definitely_ knew that my legs shouldn't be twisting that way without me screaming in complete agony.

And then, after what felt like mere kliks to me, a green box appeared within my mindscape, telling me that my pain receptors were automatically turning back on. After a moment, I could _feel_ things again; this time, however, things felt _different_. I could feel something unfamiliar pressing down against the ground, holding up my entire weight with ease, and when I moved my arm, it felt as if it'd been locked into place, preventing me from moving it forward as I'd wanted it to; when I tried to move my helm upright, I felt it harshly bang against something solid and most definitely painful.

Wincing, I muttered, "Fuck that _hurt_ dammit."

"Lax?" I heard Domino say, and felt a hand being placed on my...was that my tibulen or my chest? "You okay there?" He asked me.

Knowing that if I nod they wouldn't see it, I answered with a, "Yeah, everything's fine. In fact, everything's _perfect_."

I could hear the little shit snort. "And do you feel right now?" He asked me.

I stayed silent for a moment, trying my very best to summarize my opinion. "Like I've been stuffed into a cramp box with my limbs having been twisted into some kind of Unicron-cursed form," I hissed. "But other than that? Fragging _peachy_ ," I sniffed.

"So _you're_ the one who taught Crashthrough that word," Venompoint's voice rang out loud and clear, accusing as well. "Dumbaft keeps _using it_. What the frag does that even mean?"

I didn't deign him with an answer, what with being too preoccupied with my current situation. "How the frag do you even _move_ in this?" I said loudly as I struggled. I could feel my legs and arms moving from wherever the hell they were placed in right now—for all I knew, my hand could have been placed on my aft—but I couldn't move _forward_.

"Relax, Lax," I could hear Domino say, and I tensed, showing how uncomfortable I was right now. "Have you onlined your optics yet?"

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p.'

"Do it!" Domino suddenly exclaimed. "Online your optics!"

I furrowed my optical ridges at him; nonetheless, I reluctantly did so, only to blink in surprise at what I'd seen. There was a screen in front of me, bordered by a black frame. On the screen, I could clearly see Domino and Venompoint, looking down at me, the former beaming brightly at me whereas the latter was wearing his usual scowl as he glared down at me; however, the difference between this and my regular sight was that there were words and numbers on both sides.

When I scanned through the digital writings, I realized that these were _stats_. _My_ stats, to be more specific. It was telling me at why percent my systems were at and—

Woah. Was that—? No way, I didn't even _know_ my interface systems could even _have_ a percentage. I remembered that Vitallium had mentioned it in our first meeting, but I hadn't really quite understood what exactly he was talking about, since I'd been so stuck with the notion that _Primus_ had sent _me_ to the _Transformers universe._ Even now, I can admit, that I'm still in disbelief that Primus had still chosen me. But back to the current topic at hand, _interface systems_. I checked at what percent i was currently at, and was amused to see that I was only at 5%. I believe that because I'd died as a virgin, my interface systems would be this low.

"What do you see?" Domino asked me, and I could see him practically vibrating from where he stood.

"Well I can see you guys, for one," I patiently told him. "But I can also see the percentages of my systems," I added.

I watched as Domino turned his helm to share a look with Venompoint, whose glare softened up into an intense stare when his gaze landed on the much smaller mech.

"At least her alt. mode's normal enough," Domino pointed out with a pleased nod. "I thought for sure she'd have some kind of freaky organic-inspired alt. mode," he added, looking back at me with a relieved look in his bright blue optics. "And it seems that her systems are functioning perfectly during her alt. mode."

"Problem is, the femme doesn't know how to fragging _move_ of all things," Venompoint scoffed, sending me an annoyed glare.

In replacement of my shoulder armor flaring indignantly at him, I felt something near my aft flare out. Well, at least my shoulders were positioned near my aft, which meant that my hands were safely far away from some accidental self-groping. I growled lowly, making my engine rev in what I hope was a threatening manner.

Venompoint gave me a condescending smirk, which only riled me up even more. That bastard!

"Give her a break, will ya, VP?" Domino said as he slapped Venompoint on the lower back—which, from where I was standing, looked fucking _adorable_. The little guy wasn't tall enough to smack Venompoint on the shoulders or helm, unless he climbed Venompoint or something. "This's her first time transforming. I bet she hasn't exercised her wheels yet," He said with a huff.

I paused at that. "Wheels have to be exercised?" I asked, sounding bewildered by that fact.

Domino gave Venompoint an 'I told you' look, before he answered my question, "Not the wheels itself, Lax. Only the joints. Your creators should have taught you that when you were a youngling," he said, shaking his helm in disappointment.

I would've shrugged; only problem was that I _couldn't_ for fuck's sake. "Like I said, my planet had some hardcore transformation laws," I answered, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

"Well I guess we'll have to hold off racing for now," Domino said with a disappointed vent; I myself couldn't help but feel disappointed as well, because I _really_ wanted to run at 100kph! "You can transform back into your root mode for now, Lax," Domino told me, and I vaguely wondered how to do so. Domino gave me a sugary sweet smile, "You have to learn things by yourself sometimes, Lax."

I already knew that, even from when I was still human—I mean, who _doesn't_? Learning is the instinct of every living organism, because the first thing a living organism learns is how to live. A plant learns how to grow to feed itself, whereas a mammal learns how to breath the minute its born. The hardest thing I'd ever learned was that death comes whenever it wants; after that, it'd be calculus.

It was pretty much common sense on how to transform back into root mode. I sent a message to my main processor to do as Domino had said, closed my eyes, thinned my dermas, squinted my nose, then accepted the permission to turn off my pain receptors. I waited for a few nano-kliks before I felt my numb body just _transform_ , until I felt myself being placed onto the soles of my pedes. Disoriented, I fell backwards and landed on my bottom, making me snap my optics open as my pain receptors automatically went back online after the transformation.

I blinked several times, trying my best to reorient my equilibrium systems that were going haywire, before I closed my optics again and shook my helm. A klik passed and I finally pushed myself off of the ground to stand up, feeling a little less dizzy from the experience of transforming back into my root mode.

Everything was still spinning though...

"You can exercise your wheels by turning them," Domino said as he reached out to touch the wheels hooked to the back of my shoulders. He frowned when they moved slowly underneath his touch, even as he slowly added strength to spinning them. "I suggest you start now so that a lunar cycle from now you can start moving in your alt. mode," he told me as he removed his hand from my wheel.

It took me a moment to realize that I didn't stiffen underneath his touch. In fact, I hadn't even thought anything about it. I didn't know what to think about this sudden change.

. I gave him a nod and grateful smile as well. "Ok. Thanks, Domino," I said as I stretched my left arm over my chest so that my right hand could start spinning the wheel, and I found out that it took a lot of my strength to make it move, which in turn made me frown deeply.

"Your wheel joints will loosen up in a orn or two if you keep that up," Domino explained. "You should do it daily every two joors for ten kliks, for each wheel," he added, pointedly looking at the wheels attached to my lower legs, and just as I was about to bob my helm once again in agreement, a sudden and sharp call of attention had immediately caught my interest, and I turned my helm, only to catch sight of the hulking mass of a mech jogging towards us.

I blinked. "Crashthrough?"

"Hey, Lax," Crashthrough said, beaming brightly at me as he came to a halt before us. His yellow optics glanced towards my tutors of the day, and he shuttered his optics. "Oh. Mini, VP, what are you doing here?" He asked them with a curious tilt of his helm.

Venompoint scowled at his nickname, but to my surprise he didn't speak up about it, instead huffing indignantly and looking away so that he could mumble incomprehensibly underneath his breath; Domino, however, merely pouted. "You're so mean, Crashthrough. Just because you're bigger than me doesn't mean you can give me such a mean nickname," the little mech said.

"That's gonna be hard, since you're the shortest mech out of all of us," Crashthrough said with a snort. "Anyways, what are guys doing out here? Especially so near to the border of our territory?" He asked, narrowing his optics a little.

"We were teaching the femme to transform," Venompoint answered.

Crashthrough turned his helm to face me, optics gleaming brightly. "You didn't know how to transform before?" He asked me with a tilt of his helm, optical ridges furrowing deeply.

I bit my lip, feeling a little embarrassed to admit that _yes, I had no fucking clue, thank you very much._ "Yeah. My planet had pretty strict transforming rules. We'd have been arrested if we transformed or did anything related to transforming before we got our adult upgrades," I explained to him.

A glint appeared in Venompoint's dark red optics. "Your people arrest sparklings and younglings?" He asked me, sounding a little bit bewildered.

I nodded my helm. "Of course. On my home planet, it's, how can I say this?, _pretty_ common for some bad people to use children. Nobody can suspect the cute face of a seemingly-innocent child," I murmured softly, remembering child-labor and those kids that were involved in the distribution of drugs. "But there are also some with, well, unstable processors that end up killing another human being," I said with a shrug, and watched as Venompoint and Domino looked tired and sad at the same time yet accepting as well, whereas Crashthrough appeared horrified. "But that rarely happens, of course, and mostly with a reason for murdering someone else," I added, and I decided to change the topic before the conversation got a little bit too morbid. "So why are _you_ here, Crashthrough?" I curiously asked him, wincing when I sounded reproachful. I didn't meant it, I swear to every deity out there.

Thankfully, Crashthrough didn't seem to notice the tone of my voice. If he had, he was doing a pretty good job at hiding it. "Well, I was looking for _you_ ," He said with a smile, before he brought something out of his subspace. "Catch!" He advised before he tossed the brown lump towards me.

I effortlessly caught it, inspecting the item with a scrutinizing eye. "A...blanket?" I asked him as I cautiously unfolded the cloth—because for all I knew, it might have been used to wrap something.

"A cloak," Crashthrough informed me. "I would have given you some heavy armor, but, well, we're lacking in some supplies," he ended with a vent.

"Why?" I asked as I drew my optical ridges together.

"Yeah, Crashthrough. _Why?_ " Venompoint butted in, his usual glare in place, and one optical ridge raised whilst the other was furrowed downwards. "Are you going somewhere, and bringing the femme along with you?" He pushed, and I turned to face him, optics wide with surprise and bewilderment at what he'd just said.

Crashthrough seemed to shrink into himself for a moment, before he puffed his chassis out raised his chin a bit. "Yeah. I'm gonna bring her outside, I already asked Rouge and Vitallium for their permission and they said yes," Crashthrough said as casually as he could, maintaining eye contact quite splendidly.

I see Venompoint and Domino exchange dubious looks—heck, _they_ even looked at _me_ , and we all shared dubious looks. Because as much as I'm excited to get out of here, I didn't want to _actually_ get in trouble with the only Cybertronians who were willing to show me kindness and offer me shelter as well as sustenance. I wasn't _that_ much of an idiot, thank you very much.

Seeing our reluctance to believe his words, Crashthrough exasperatedly rolled his optics and showed the _very impressive_ dent that cratered his chassis. I spent a moment to stare at it blankly with wide, horrified optics because _holy shit, how the fuck did I **not** notice that? _"Vitallium did this to me," Crashthrough stated simply, as if that enough was to explain why the fucking hell Cybertron was called _Cybertron_.

"But he's so nice," I immediately blurted out, and I flushed in embarrassment at the stares that I received from the three mechs.

Crashthrough snorted. "That mech can pack one slagging pit of a punch when he's pissed off."

Domino moved forward to inspect the dent in Crashthrough armor. "So whaddya do to piss him so badly that he brought out the sledge hammer?" He asked with a curiously thoughtful expression.

I thought I heard someone choking, but when I turned around all I could see was Venompoint standing there, with his servos crossed, and looking at Domino with wide optics.

"The sledge hammer?" Venompoint said aloud, looking a little dazed.

Domino nodded. "Vitallium's servo blades and Rouge's energon scalpels don't dent—they _slice_ ," he explained. "Only the sledgehammer can do this kind of damage."

Crashthrough merely vented out loudly. "Like I said, I asked for his and Rouge's permission to bring Lax out. Took a lot of effort, but I managed," he said with a chuckle.

"Lucky glitch," Domino muttered, moving away from the bulky mech and returning to Venompoint's side.

I shuttered my optics, glancing back down at the brown cloak in my hands, before glancing back up at Crashthrough. "...Out?" I asked, my processors feeling a little bit numb from the prospect of going out so soon; despite that, the foreign object within my chest fluttered with excitement.

Crashthrough gave me a broad grin. "Yeah! If you want to, that is," he immediately added, looking at me with large yellow optics that gleamed with hope.

I'd be a total monster if I'd rejected that. "Domino? Venompoint?" I said, turning my helm to look at the two mechs, making sure to put my kitty cat optics to good use. "Can I?" I queried, jutting my bottom derma out and quivering it a little as I made my shoulder armor quake a little at the very edges.

Domino and Venompoint exchanged looks, one of worry whilst the other was of reluctancy. It took a moment—a very long moment, might I add—before they both nodded their helms.

"Be safe, Lax," Domino told me, and I nodded my helm as I flapped the cloak open to air it out a little bit. "And make sure that you _never_ reveal your identity to anybody there, okay? You'll not only be endangering yourself, but you'll be endangering _us_ as well. The Pit Master doesn't treat femme-hiders well," he said with a vent.

I nodded my helm, saluting snappily at him. "Sir, yes sir!" I answered, and he gave me a smile in return.

Venompoint merely rolled his optics. "Don't get lost, kid," was all he'd offered, and I nodded my helm to him, hesitantly giving him a small smile for his words.

I turned to Crasthrough, and beamed brightly at him.

He offered a hand to me. "Let's go?" He asked me.

I stared at his open hand, before I shook my helm and gave him a somewhat shaky smile. "I still don't like touching."

* * *

Crashthrough had made it clear that, whether I liked it or not, contact with him would have to happen to show the other mechs that I was to not be messed with, unless they wanted an angry Gladiator chasing them into the Pit. So after I'd donned the cloak that smelled of iron and oil which made me scrunch my nose, we'd trekked out of the territory and traveled through the ruins of a broken Kaon.

Wherever I looked, there were greyed Cybertronian parts of what had once been whole mechs and femmes before scavengers had collected some of their body parts to sell at the Gladiator Pit. Remains of what had once been grand structures were littered about, rubbles stained with energon and ash were quite a common sight as well as I looked around.

We traveled down a ramp that would bring us to the different levels of Kaon—Domino had explained to me how levels and sectors worked. From Level A to H, nobles and elites resided within this sector, as well as those who were skilled and intelligent enough to work their way up their ranks; I to M were for those of the middle castes; N to Z were for the lower castes. The Sectors were divided from 1 to 12—which, by the way, made me snort, because Hunger Games reference anybody?—and Cybertronians were sorted through it depending on how much wealth and power they owned.

As we descended, I began to notice that the scenery grew even more war-torn, and once we passed by Level N, the poverty grew more and more obvious. We passed by a few more mechs that glanced at us—well, more at Crashthrough because of his Gladiator status. Crashthrough had told me as we'd left home that he would be easily recognized by the mechs since he was a well-known Gladiator.

But there were a few particular mechs that stared at me longer than they did at Crashthrough. They were probably curious of why Crashthrough was holding my servo that too was hidden by the cloak. I had realized early on that it wasn't uncommon for cloaks to be worn, because we'd passed by quite a handful of mechs that were wearing cloaks, some even having the hoods up to obscure their faceplates just as I was doing. I was only lucky that Crashthrough's cloak was big enough to cover the entirety of my frame and even have a few space left to walk easily in, despite the small trail of cloth that followed behind me due to its length.

Finally, we arrived at out designated level. I glanced up at the huge signboard that hung over our helms, with the Cybertronian character for V painted in bright yellow with a black outline, as Crashthrough had easily translated for me. Crashthrough tugged me towards him, and I broke my train of thoughts to follow him, easily falling into line with his steps that seemed more like a slow jog to me.

I looked around, seeing rows and rows of houses that were glued side by side and stacked upon the other. The place looked like a squatter area, but I wisely kept my vocal processors quiet, not wanting to cause any ire among the residences that were leering quite obviously at Crashthrough. When I looked up, it seemed as if Crashthrough was taking all of this into stride with a perfect poker face upon his faceplates.

"You see that, Lax?" He suddenly said, making me jolt upright into attention. The bulky mech looked down at me, and he chuckled at me which made me scowl up at him even though he couldn't exactly see my face. "That's the Gladiator Pit," he said, and I looked at the direction he was pointing at and nearly tripped when I spotted the incredibly large building that just seemed to go through the roof of this level.

I shuttered my optics, feeling my jaw slacken at the incredible sight. " _That's_ the Gladiator Pit?" I asked, looking at it with awe. I'd seen what it looked like in comic books, but there was a distinct difference between seeing it on paper and in actual real life. The tall and wide building I was looking at was all grey walls with a few cracks here and there from maybe how old its been; the odd part to me was that I couldn't see a single window or there in sight. "How do we get in?" I asked.

"You'll see," was all Crashthrough said before he went silence, his poker face coming back on, and I went quiet as well when I'd noticed the stares we'd garnished from our simple conversation.

Wow. Privacy people. Please.

After a few more kliks of walking, we finally arrived at a very grand entrance. And by very grand, I _meant_ it. Golden trim, spikes at the top, and there were even two red-opticed mechs guarding it, each of them wielding a shield and a spear with an intricate head.

"Hey, Rotor," Crashthrough interrupted the mech before he could yell out whatever the hell he was gonna yell out. My bet's on halt by the way. "How's guard duty?" He asked, smiling amiably at the rust-colored mech that had some parts of his frame peeling into silver from lack of attention and shinning.

"Boring as frag like always," the mech, Rotor, said with a roll of his optics.

"Well good luck then, buddy," Crashthrough offered, before he turned to the other mech. "How 'bout you, Shift-In?"

"Same ole, same ole," Shift-In answered with a shrug. "Hey, yah know who's dah unlucky mech ole Bric-a-Brac set up with Minion?" He asked with a raise of his optical ridges.

"Last I've heard, it was Tightgear," Crashthrough replied, his grip on me tightening up a bit as a concerned look crossed his faceplates. "And I have no clue on what he did to frag off Bric-a-Brac this badly," he said with a loud vent.

Rotor seemed to lean in as he offered his own opinion about the topic. "I've heard rumors about that mech. Bad rumors. _Dirty_ rumors."

Shift-In just rolled his optics whilst Crashthrough looked faintly amused. "Well get on with it then!" Shift-In snapped.

Rotor's dermas stretched into a wide grin. "Calm your tailpipe, will you?" He taunted, but continued on with his story. "I heard from Boltshut that Tightgear went into the boss's secret room last orn," he said.

"Dah fool went in there?" Shift-In said with wide, red optics. " _Why_ _?_ "

Rotor looked around, before his gaze landed on me and his optics narrowed in suspicion. "Hey, who's the bitlet?" He asked, and I tensed when I saw his grip on his spear tighten up.

I flinched when Crashthrough wrapped a large arm around my shoulders, bringing me closer to him, but I stayed quiet about it, knowing very well that I could bitch about it to him later when there were less hostiles around. "He's with me, guys," he said. "Anyways, go on Rotor, why did Tightgear go into the room?" He asked.

Rotor looked up at Crashthrough, before his skeptical gaze returned to me. "I dunno, Crashthrough. I can't have this kinda information leaking out of the Pits," he said, looking hesitant to share as a gleam of fear passed by his optics for a brief moment.

Crashthrough merely offered a comforting smile, and I guess I could say this was where he 'turned on' his charms. "It's ok. Lax here's a pretty close friend of mine. He won't share it anybody," he consoled.

Rotor still didn't seem convinced. "Then why the cloak, huh?" He asked with a raised optical ridge, pinning me with a suspicious glare, making Shift-In look at me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Before Crashthrough could open his mouth, I had already onlined my vocal processors and opened my mouth. "My faceplates had been mutilated by the Decepticons," I said in the deepest voice I could ever muster, making me sound like some batman ripoff.

"Oh," Rotor said intelligently, the suspicion washing away from his faceplates, only to be replaced by guilt. Shift-In elbowed him in the side, making the rust-colored mech wince and send his fellow guard a look of accusation. "Well, ugh, sorry," he said, before he hastily added. "Sorry for the whole mutilated faceplates, I mean," he said, before he winced a moment later. "Sorry," he finally summarized with a look of panic flashing by his faceplates.

I didn't look up at him, but merely nodded my helm. "It's fine," I gruffly said.

Rotor seemed crestfallen—which, in my opinion, was pretty nice of the guy to feel guilty for acting like a total asshole to a mech who's had his faceplates mutilated—but Crashthrough poked him in the elbow. "Well?" Crashthrough said with a raised optical ridge.

Rotor sent me one last hesitant look before he continued. "Boltshut said that Tightgear went into boss's secret room because he heard someone singing," he says lowly, and I shutter my optics when I hear both Crashthrough and Shift-In draw in a sharp breath.

"Singing?" Shift-In says, an incredulous expression upon his faceplates. "What kinda singin', mech?" He asks, leaning in forward with interest.

"Beautiful singing," Rotor answers. "Like the voice of a Vosian, is what Boltshut says, but I don't believe it. Not one bit. Them Vosians all packed up and left once them Decepticreeps left Cybertron to rot," he said with a dark grimace.

"What did he see in boss's room?" Crashthrough inquired, leaning in forward as well.

Rotor shook his helm. "Boltshut didn't say. He said that Bric-a-Brac's goon, Clobber, ripped out Tightgear's vocal processors before he could say anything else. Boltshut told me that he was just lucky to hear Tightgear blabbering on about what I just told you now," was all he'd said.

"I see..." Crashthrough trailed off, looking a little bit disappointed that he hadn't been able to hear more about the story. Heck, _I_ myself was pretty disappointed that that was all I could hear. Give me some credit, I'm a _girl_ , and girls live to gossip and eventually find out about life's biggest mystery. "Well, it doesn't matter, I promised KO that I'd meet him in his suite before my battle. See you later, mechs," Crashthrough said with a smile before he walked inside of the building with me in tow.

I turned my helm to glance over my shoulder, only to feel a foreboding feeling settle within the depths of my gut when I saw that both mechs were looking at us walk away—more particularly, looking at _me_ as I was dragged away by Crashthrough to who knows where.

When we rounded up a corner, and Rotor and Shift-In had completely disappeared from my line of sight, I turned my helm back so that I could see where the hell Crashthrough was bringing me to, but everything seemed like a blur of dimly-lit hallways and grey walls. I knew that we'd taken a right, then a left, then most probably another left at that corner—but wait, which corner?

I tried—really, I did—to remember the corners we'd turn, but it was _really_ hard. I was already starting to feel my mother's paranoia slowly creep out of the dark corners of my mind, whispering possible situations that could happen whilst I was here.

The worst, and most accurate one, ended up me being chased out of the Gladiator Pits just because I, being the incredibly curious femme that I _know_ you guys just love, did something incredibly fucked up like let my curiosity win over me and find out about some super dark secret that nobody but their boss—Brick-a-Brac—should only know.

I know myself, peeps. I know how stupid I can get because of my goddamn curiosity that'll one day, maybe today, be the death of me.

Several more paranoid thoughts entered my mind, making me imagine it as realistically as I could, and, with the help of my super-enhanced processor, the images were pretty much realistic enough. Some were quite funny, whilst the majority of them ended with me dead with my energon staining the gory stab wounds that my imaginary goons had inflicted upon imaginary me.

I didn't know how long it had taken Crashthrough to bring us to our designated area, but the klik I felt something pinch the sensitive appendages on my back, I yelped and instantly whirled to face my assaulter with fiery, orange optics that I hoped looked like the fiery pits of hell. My optics met a pair of yellow ones that were upon amused faceplates, and I pulled my dermas back into a snarl that threateningly bared my dentals, the engine within my chassis growling angrily to backup my ire.

"Sorry, Lax," Crashthrough said, holding his hands up. I instantly reached out to rub the aching part of my appendage, feeling a little fortunate that Crashthrough had done it through the thick fabric of the coat, or else there's most likely be a dent there by now judging by how much it'd hurt. "But you were out of your processors for a klik there," he said with a sheepish smile.

I flushed a little, pulling the hood a little more over my faceplates until I couldn't see anything, allowing myself to cool down my heating faceplates for a little bit. "I just had a lot to think about," I said quietly, and I could feel the armor protecting my shoulders flare out a little bit.

"Well save your thoughts for later," Crashthrough said, patting my clothed helm, making sure that his hand didn't brush against my antennae, which I was thankful for. My antennae were kind of sensitive, but not as sensitive as the extra appendages on my back though. "I want to introduce you to a friend of mine," he said, beaming brightly at me, before he knocked thrice on a door that I'd never notice we'd been standing in front of.

"Who's there?" A deep, mostly muffled voice spoke from the other side of the door.

"It's me. Crashthrough," my companion said, and I could see his optics brighten up a bit.

I stared at the small, broad-chassised mech donned in thick and bright red armor over the first layer of white armor that covered any available inch of metal that wasn't red. I blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Swinging my gaze a little bit upwards, I took a look at the mech's faceplates, blanching at the familiarity of it.

I could hear shuffling from the other side of the door, before the metal doors slid open and revealed a mech—and I froze, my jaw slackening as I stared with what felt like wide optics at the oh so familiar face that _shouldn't be here._

Fortunately, the mech was too preoccupied with conversing with Crashthrough to even acknowledge my presence, which gave me enough time to compose myself and thoroughly examine the mech before me _just_ to be sure that I wasn't mistaking his identity.

The mech was a good helm or two taller than me with a broad chassis that dipped down into a narrow waist than then flared out into shapely hips with thick tibulens attached to it. I couldn't help but ogle his tibulens for a moment, because _damn_ were they sexy as fuck. He had a layer of white armor covering his servos, tibulens, and pedes underneath a _much_ thicker layer of armor that was scandalously bright red in color with a few golden accents here and there.

The mech had aristocratic-like features—high cheekbones that sharpened into a firm jawline with a dark red chin guard that looked more like a tiny goatee than anything else; he had sharp, dark red optics with a pitch black sclera; pale white faceplates to match his first layer of armor, and a dark red helm with three familiar fin-like ridges that complemented that mech's devilish features even more.

Hell, he even had those things things sticking out of the sides of his helm that looked more like bleached elf ears than anything else.

Now, I don't know about you, but if I didn't know any better, I'd have thought that this mech here was a pretty good and devoted Knock Out cosplayer, to have even gone so far as to have copied those weird elf ears thingy; however, I'd been raised better and most certainly _much_ smarter, so I knew what and what not to believe.

But right now, with the real Knock Out standing _right fucking in front of me_ , forgive me if I'd lost the ability to speak for myself when there's a motherfucking storm of emotions and _holy shit_ and _what the fuck is he doing here_ as well as _I think I just broke the Transformers timeline_ rampaging within me, making the foreign object within my chest protest at the sudden shit ton of emotions that just shoved themselves into me.

The feeling of meeting one of your favorite Transformers characters was pretty surreal to me. I felt like I was within a dream where I had the power to get away with anything and teleport my sorry aft to wherever the hell I wanted to be at, and I was slowly waiting for the moment to wake up because _holy shit, this is Knock Out. **Knock Out**. Knockout the Decepticon's only medic aboard the Nemesis in Transformers" Prime._

Primus fraggit, this is the best fucking day ever.

Now, Knock Out may not have been my most favorite Transformers character (Soundwave will _always_ be my number one mech, dammit.), but that didn't mean I wasn't a total fan for the sexy ass medic that could check me up _any_ time.

Before I could contemplate over the topic of Knock Out, a hand clamping itself down on my shoulder had immediately snapped me out of my thoughts, and I straightened my back, shoulders held in a very firm and tense posture.

"And I want to introduce you to a new friend of mine," Crashthrough said, beaming brightly, and I minutely relaxed, because it was just Crashthrough and Crashthrough wouldn't purposefully harm me. "This is Galactica," he said, his hand going up to my clothed helm so that he could pat the back of it.

Knock Out raised a single optical ridge, scrutinizing me with narrowed, dark red optics. "Galactica?" He tested my designation with a grimace, and I narrowed my gaze on him.

"Got a problem with it?" I asked him with my batman voice, and Knock Out seemed to blink, looking at me with a confused expression.

After a moment, Knock Out shook his helm. "Oh no. None at all. It's just... _exotic_ ," Knock Out said with an emphasis on the last word, his dermas looping into a smirk. "I've never heard of a mech with a name like that," he ended, and I wondered if he was trying to sound mocking or truly sorry..

From beside me, Crashthrough let out a snort. Annoyed, I made sure to stab my elbow into his side, greedily eating up his expression of pain and the wince he gave off.

"And is that so bad?" I snapped, crossing my servos over my chest even though Knock Out couldn't see how turned on my bitch mode was.

Knock Out didn't even bother to deign me with a spoken reply; the irritatingly amused look on his devilishly handsome faceplates was enough of an answer.

Really, I would have lunged at him with bared dentals and clawed hands and all—I'd learned from Rouge, lunger extraordinaire—but Crashthrough gripped my right shoulder with his hand whilst the other one was affectionately patting my helm as if I was a goddamn pet. "Now, now, Lax, no need to get all violent," he said with a smile, and turned my helm a little so that he could see my dermas that had stretched themselves into a malicious snarl from underneath the hood. "And it _is_ a very exotic designation, but you don't have to bully Galactica for that," Crashthrough said, before grinning widely, as if he'd just said the biggest joke in the world. "And besides, who said that she was a mech?"

I stiffened underneath his touch, watching with growing horror as Knock Out's faceplates went through a transformation of expressions. Confusion. Blankness. Realization. Surprise. Once I'd seen Knock Out's jaw slacken from its grip, I didn't waste any time to rip myself out of Crashthrough grasp, turn on my heel, and slam my clenched fist into Crashthrough's chassis, leaving quite a sizable dent beside the dent that Vitallium had created and knocking the larger mech onto his aft.

" _Dude!_ " I hissed. "Notcool, dude. _Not. Cool_." I told him as I hovered over him, looking down at him with narrowed optics.

Crashthrough groaned, rubbing his newly-created dent with a soothing hand. "W-Wait a klik, Lax. Let me explain," he said, expression twisted with pain.

I ignored him. "When we get back with an angry mob on our heels, it'd better be _you_ who's the one doing the slagging explaining to the others!" I demanded, stomping my right pede. "'Cause it sure as Pit ain't gonna be that'll be _mutilated_ by them!" I exclaimed, feeling the armor on my shoulder rise, which in turn made the cloak hike up a bit, revealing my heeled pedes, but I was too fragging mad to even _care_ if anybody saw it. I didn't want to lose that I'd gained from them!

"Not a mech, you say?" A rather sultry voice said, and I stiffened, feeling dread settle within the deepest depths of my energon tanks because _fuck_ I'd forgotten that the particular mech that'd just found out about (more like told about) my darkest secret that I'd _sworn_ to Domino and Venompoint that I'd make sure that _no one_ would find out about.

Fuck you, Crashthrough. Really. _Fuck. You_.

Slowly and cautiously, I turned around, ready to either sprint off to Primus knows where or make Rouge proud by lunging at the bastard and clawing his handsome faceplates off if he did anything funny. Widening my stance and bending my back a little bit, I made sure that my hands were spread out into the defensive position, but with the claws out if I'd decided that I wanted to give Knock Out a little makeover.

Knock Out fan or not, I'd rather _live_ thank you very much.

"Got a problem with it, _mech?"_ I would like to say that I'd said it, but judging by the way my dermas were pulled out and I was only capable of spitting out harsh words, than the proper term would be that I'd _snarled_ it out.

Knock Out's dermas twisted themselves into an amused smirk, but I couldn't miss the dark excitement that had been plastered across his face, which made me all the more wary and cautious of him. "Why, none at all," he drawled, before turning around and stalking back into the room he'd come from. "Come," he said, his red optics flickering from me to glance at Crashthrough's downed form. "The both of you. We have _much_ to discuss," he said, and the door closed behind him, but didn't lock itself which only meant that we were more than welcome to enter.

Suffice to say, when Crashthrough had finally composed himself, I wasn't very willing to come with him to the room.

* * *

"LET GO OF ME YOU FRAGGING BASTARD!" I roared, because shrieking was for _ninnies_. If any of you are asking why exactly I was currently screaming my helm off and trying my very best to deafen anybody within five meters of my range, it's because Crashthrough had so easily slung me over his shoulder when he'd gotten tired of my bitch fits and protests to enter the room. "I SWEAR I'LL CALL THE FUCKING AUTHORITIES ON YOUR SORRY AFT!" I threatened, slamming my fist down on his back as hard as I could, taking great pride when I saw him flinch at that.

Knock Out snorted from where he was, which was on the other side of a medical berth. "How can you call the authorities when there's not a single enforcer or politician left?" He muttered, but I clearly heard him and shot him a defiant glare despite the dark sadness that settled down within my gut.

"Lax, will you calm down? I promise nothing bad will happen," Crashthrough tried to soothe me, and I kicked him in the chassis in return.

"RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THESE MECHS ARE GOING TO **_RAPE_** ME!" I screamed in a much louder voice.

As I'd expected, Crashthrough's grip on me loosened; judging by the horrified surprise on Knock Out's face, I guess it was safe for me to say that I'd succeeded in scaring the loving crap out of them. Taking advantage of his slip, I wiggled myself out of his grip, gracefully landed on my pedes, then darted towards the door as fast as my legs could move. Without even thinking about it, I slammed the datapad on the wall, having already gotten used to the doors opening for me after I'd slammed the open switch on the pad, then proceeded to burst my way to freedom.

Only to realize an astrosecond later that the doors never opened and that my shoulder was now painfully throbbing against the cold metal.

"The doors are password-locked," Knock Out told me after he'd recovered from his stupor.

I groaned as I peeled myself off of the doors, holding my aching shoulder with one hand. "Why?" I bemoaned.

"To keep potential runaways like you trapped inside," Knock Out drawled, and I immediately tensed up at his words and whirled around to face him.

Crashthrough, after having recovered, stepped forward, and my shoulder armor flared out. The large mech held his servos up in the universal sign of peace. "Now, now, Lax. Just calm down. I promise Knock Out here won't hurt you," he said, smiling uneasily at me.

I narrowed my optics at him, rolling my aching shoulder a little to soothe the pain. "And why should I believe you?" I snapped, raising an optical ridge to prove my point.

"Because I know that there's another femme in your territory," Knock Out casually pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders.

I snapped my helm to face him, feeling alarmed at that particular piece of attention. "What?" I whispered, optics widening in shock.

"This mech told me everything about your little ragtag group," Knock Out said, as if that explained everything, and I looked to where he was pointing at, and stared at Crashthrough in blatant horror.

" _You?_ " I said in an accusing tone. "You...You told him _everything_?" I asked him, scenes of Venompoint mutilating Crashthrough's frame passing through my processor.

Crashthrough let out a nervous laugh, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as if he'd just been caught stealing a cookie from the sacred cookie jar. "Yeah, but it's not what your thinking about," he said.

I would like to say that I _didn't_ explode, but that would be the motherfucking understatement of the _century_. "NOT WHAT I'M THINKING?!" I went off like an atomic bomb, throwing my servos up into the air to emphasize just how outrageous this situation was. "Well what fragging else should I even think of?!" I demanded from him, optics blazing. "That when we get home, Venompoint's going to murder _you_ then _me_? That the rest are gonna be angry at us for the rest of our lives?! What exactly do you want me to think about, Crashthrough, huh?!"

Crashthrough just stared blankly at me for a long moment, and I took that time trying to push away the rage bubbling inside of me somewhere far away because I needed to be calm and rational in a situation like this despite me wanting to just say _fuck it_ and rage all I want. Finally, Crashthrough emitted a long and suffering vent. "None of that will happen," Crashthrough told me, and I could feel something inside of me fritz at those simple words.

"What do you mean none of that will happen?" I said, feeling something dark and deep settle down within the depths of my energon tank. To be perfectly honest with all of you, I'd thought that the next words he'd tell me would be, _None of that will happen if we kill them first_.

Crashthrough merely sighed again. "This'll kind of be a long story, so I recommend that you sit down for this one."

I didn't listen to him; instead, I crossed my servos over my chest and gave him a very pointed expression.

Crashthrough and I shared one _very_ long look, and I could tell that sparks were literally sparking from our gazes, until Crashthrough threw his servos up in the air in resigned frustration. " _Fine_ then, _don't_ sit. _Stand_ for all I care!" He exclaimed, before plopping down on a metal stool nearby.

I stuck my glossa out at him.

And then, most surprisingly and unexpectedly, Knock Out threw his helm back and _laughed_.

"You have fire, femme," Knock Out chuckled in his oh-so-sexy-just-take-me voice that made my faceplates heat up when images of fan art of _him_ and Breakdown getting down and dirty appeared within my processor. "A lot of it."

"It's Galactica," I snapped, and I twitched when I felt the foreign object within my chest pulse at the images of Breakdown and Knock Out. " _Not_ femme." Because I was so sick and tired of being addressed as just _femme_.

The foreign object insistently pulsed again, but this time it was a much _stronger_ pulse, and I placed a hand over my chestplates, wondering why was it acting so jittery right now. Usually, it was as calm as a baby and sent me waves of serenity if I felt worked up or waves of fury when Venompoint had gone a little too far in bullying me. The only time it when all crazy was when I either thought about Crashthrough, saw Crashthrough, or even talked to the big mech, but it had never been to _this_ extent.

I felt as if it was trying to tell me something—and _no_ it was not love. I knew what love felt like: warm tingly feelings, butterflies fluttering about in my gut, lots of blushing, and the absurd urge to jump out of the window when my crush was there. The emotions that were going through me were kind of complicated but manageable to explain: there was this heavy feeling at the back of my processor, as if there was a big chunk of my brain that was missing, and I could feel this itchy sensation of my glossa which usually meant to me that _there was something I was supposed to remember_.

But what was I supposed to remember exactly?

To be honest, what happened next might sound a little bit too cliche—oh, who am I even kidding? It _was_ cliche, because the instant the image of a scene in Transformers Prime where Breakdown and Knock Out were smirking at one another after having bested the Autobots in one particular round, I heard Crashthrough start talking, which made me snap my helm up to face him, and then something _clicked_ inside of me, as if a switch had been flipped and I was suddenly realizing something for the first time.

I blinked slowly, turning to look at Crashthrough, then at Knock Out, then back again. I blinked again, trying to _process_ what exactly I was seeing, and compared to what I was currently seeing to the image of Breakdown and Knock Out from Transformers: Prime that I had conjured.

It took me a whole minute to see the differences, and another whole minute to realize that there were _no slagging differences_.

I blinked again. Once. Twice. _Thrice_. And then something inside of me clicked once again, making the gears in my processors turn oh so achingly slowly, and then—

—and then I just _**blacked out**_

* * *

 ** _Requesting to open Internal Logging...Requesting...Requesting...Request: granted._**

 ** _Opening Internal Logging; Accessing New File...New File: accessed._**

 ** _Opening New File... New File: opened; Opening New Unit File...New Unit File: opened._**

 ** _Access to Unit File Number 039: granted and awaiting further actions._**

I'd like to start this entry off by saying that Ciara was totally right. I _am_ an idiot. An oblivious, foolish, and _very_ stupid idiot, might I add. And that I owe her _more_ than just ten bucks with just how idiotic I've proven to be for the last _month_.

To be honest, I should have know right from the very beginning who exactly Crashthrough was.

The familiar dark blue and greyish-silver paintjob that looked more like dark blue and white when the moonlight hit it _just_ right; the bulky frame; the yellow optics, and, most importantly, the _fucking red face_.

Crashthrough was _Breakdown_ , and he wasn't even disguising himself—he just changed his name, for frag's sake! How could i have been so blind to such an obvious thing? I didn't really have an valid excuse for this one, because starstrucked by being shoved into a metallic body and transported back into time and on Cybertron, I still should have known.

Maybe it was because I didn't really want to accept the whole concept of being a Transformer and living on Cybertron—maybe a part of me just dismissed Crashthrough so easily as Breakdown because I didn't want to acknowledge the fact that a major character of the Transformers franchise had just been _right in fucking front of me this whole time I've been on Cybertron, for fuck's double slagged up sake_ , because if I did so, then I'd be acknowledging the actions Primus had done to me.

Or maybe it was because Crashthrough didn't really act like the Breakdown that I had come to know and adore from the screen; because if there was one big difference between Crashthrough and Breakdown, it would be their opinion about _fighting_.

Because for all his incredibly large size, Crashthrough was a _softie_. I've only known him for a month, but I'd been able to gather enough information about his opinion of _that_ particular subject; in fact, he'd even _told_ me about his exact opinion of fighting.

Crashthrough had told me, despite his profession as a gladiator, that he _hated_ fighting. According to him, fighting was one of the most terrible things that had been discovered. Something that only brought pain to both sides, despite one of them being the victor. I remembered asking him, one time, what it felt like to win a gladiator battle. I'd never seen such an expression on Crashthrough's face before when I'd asked him that question—he still had that warm and kind smile plastered upon his dermas, but the look in his optics _were all wrong_. **Anger. Pain. Fury. Sadness. Disappointment. _Hate_**. It was a terrible combination, and to see it with a smile on such a nice mech that I'd come to know, it looked painful to me—and the answer he gave me was from a wise mech who'd seen things.

Things that a only veteran should see, which made me remember how young and tiny and experienced I was compared to him.

He'd told that after every battle he'd won—he hadn't lost a battle yet, according to him, and when I'd asked how and why, he'd just snorted at me and patted the top of my helm, telling me that I shouldn't be thinking about stuff like that since I was still too _young_. I'd felt insulted, of course, because I was not a kid, but deep down, I felt like a child that had been berated by its parent—he didn't feel as if it was worth it, because what right did he have to feel proud and strong when he'd only killed a mech in cold blood in exchange for energon and money? What right did he have to bask in the crowd's appreciation of him when he'd decided that money and sustenance was more important than another mech's life?

That particular conversation had been rather enlightening to me—because this had been the time I'd found out that Crashthrough had killed another mech; even worse, that Crashthrough _had_ to kill every single mech he'd fought against. For a brief moment, I'd actually seen what Crashthrough had looked like if I'd erased all that kindness in him and instead replaced it with a coldness that was frightening, and I'd felt _fear_ for the first time. The knowledge that Crashthrough could kill me anytime now—that Venompoint, and Domino, and Vitallium, and even _Rouge_ could, because they were all much more older and experienced than _I_ was—had made my internals freeze over.

It had taken that fear to make me realize that I was a very lucky femme. That I'd been found by a group with kind sparks. That I'd found a group that had taken care of me instead of ratting me out to Gladiatorial Pit. That I'd found a group that had given me a _chance_.

I remembered that I had cried myself to recharge that night, feeling like I didn't deserve the luck that I had glued to me, and feeling even more lost and alone than ever.

And I remembered that the next day, when I'd pushed down all my tears and sadness and damn _emotions_ down and locked up the most sensitive and irritating ones, I'd asked Crashthrough another question when I'd seen that he was free and that he didn't have any work again that day. I hadn't meant to be insensitive, especially after the day I'd asked him what must be a touchy question, what it felt like to take another mech's life.

Surprisingly, Crashthrough didn't seem all that insulted when I'd asked that question. Tired and weary maybe, but most definitely not insulted. He'd just vented out really loudly, and told me to sit beside him. I remembered feeling like a really small worm when I'd sat beside him and noticed that I barely reached the middle of his chest while sitting down, and that I _really_ had to crane my neck backwards to look up at him.

Crashthrough just looked down at me with bleak optics, and I felt a little bit of regret trickle into me for asking him such a question. And then, he finally told me, _that it isn't something I'd ever want to experience_. And that was it. Nothing else, before he changed the topic to a much brighter topic about Rouge exploding when she'd seen Domino get stuck to Venompoint because they'd been messing with an unknown (that they'd found out to be expired energont hat had slowly rotted and hardened over the vorns) they'd found in one of the torn down buildings on the highest ground of Cybertron.

And that was scary enough to me—a feeling that I'd never want to feel. What would that be like, I wonder.

Anyways, back to the main topic at hand. Crashthrough didn't really _like_ fighting. In fact, I can safely assume that he _hated_ it. Prime!Breakdown, on the other hand, _loved_ it, even considered it a test of strength between two warriors, and he didn't even seem to hesitate to bring up his hammer and _hurt_ someone, whether it was a killing blow or not.

Prime!Breakdown _reveled_ in fighting, and had fun in doing so. Crashthrough? Not so much.

And besides, Crashthrough didn't have the same self-confidence that Breakdown just _oozed_ ; he was too paranoid to ever be such a thing, and he took the opinion of everyone of him into regard that had slowly shaped his securities and insecurities.

To me, Prime!Breakdown seemed unstoppable. A fighting force that wouldn't be so easy to knock down. Crashthrough, on the other hand, seemed like such an easygoing mech to me, that even if I did fight him, all I'd have to say to him that I didn't want to fight, then there wouldn't be a fight.

...

But maybe I was thinking things too thoroughly—because, now that I think about it, why was I thinking about Prime!Breakdown _only_? There were several versions of Breakdown out there such as the: Dreamwave version, IDW version, the Wings version, the Headmasters version, and, the most infamous of all, the _G1_ version that, now that I compared this version to the Crashthrough I'd come to know, was more similar to than ever.

For starters, the two were paranoid bastards.

But aside from Crashthrough's similarities and differences to the Breakdowns I'd come to know over the years, there were still several questions zooming past my processor. I still wasn't completely sure that Crashthrough was Breakdown—because for all I knew, it was just a coincidence that Crashthrough had the same paintjob as Prime!Breakdown and was _very_ close friends with Knock Out (the little traitor had told Knock Out about Rouge, and had revealed him to me. If that wasn't close, then I didn't fucking know how Cybertronian relationships work) just as the Prime!Breakdown had been—but I was mostly sure that Crashthrough _is_ Breakdown, because coincidences are fucked up little shits that only happen in a, like, a hundred years or so.

Why wasn't Breakdown with the Decepticons right now? Why was he with the Neutrals? And why, for Primus's sake, was his name _Crashthrough_ of all designations?

 _Nothing_ added up to me when I imagined up situations for Breakdown's reason for leaving the Decepticons, because every Breakdown I had come to know were very loyal to the Decepticon cause, and in turn to Megatron as well, so what reason did Breakdown have to leave an entire faction—an entire _life_? I remembered Venompoint mentioning to me that there were gestalt teams, and in turn that the _Stunticons_ and _Menasor_ were a canon thing in this universe—so why was Breakdown here of all places when he had a place, a _family_ (well, they _were_ his brothers, since they'd all been spark from the same genum and together from the same area) that he could return to any day and find comfort in, so why did he leave?

I knew that the Stunticons weren't really the shinning beacon of familial love—but they were still family, and maybe offscreen they shared some love with one another maybe?

Primus, just thinking about all this was giving me a headache, even while offline.

I'm just gonna turn this in early. Fuck Cybertronian relationships, I gotta fucking _sleep_ dammit

 _ **Updating Unit File 000...Updating...Updating...Updating: complete.**_

 _ **Storing Unit File 039 into Memory Core behind Inner Firewall Z-46...Storing: complete.**_

 ** _Accessing Recharge Systems: granted._**

 ** _Recharge Systems: activating in 3...2...1_**

Blackness, and nothing but that.

* * *

 **ROUGE - II**

Large and bright red optics framed by a few, short optical lashes stared undauntingly at the tall mech whose optics glowed a brilliant dark blue hue. The little sparkling didn't shutter her optics as she trailed her gaze downwards, confirming that the mech had the same black and white paintjob that she'd usually wake up from her dreamless recharge to. Her optics went back up to inspect the unknown mech's helm, taking note of his dark red chevron, the same color and shade as her own.

Finally, after a klik, Cerise shuttered her optics as she tilted her helm to display her bewilderment of the two enigmas standing before her. Both of them were mechs. The first mech had the same paintjob as her sire: black and white, with the official insignia that any Cybertronian enforcer would wear, as well as two more insignias—one of Praxus's symbol, and the other was one that she didn't know of—etched into the armor of his chest plates; only, compared to her sire, this mech was smaller, his doorwings a little bit larger, his optics and chevron a different color, and he didn't look at her with the same fond expression her sire would. The second mech had a face guard covering the entirety of his faceplates, with the visor part shinning a sunny yellow hue and the metal part below that a yellowish orange one; there was a fin on both sides of his white helm, his servos, hands and pedes were white, whereas his torso and legs were painted a yellow orange with some parts being red orange to accentuate the bright color.

The only thing that both of the unknown mechs currently shared was that they were observing her. Cerise believed so, because why would the black and white one look at her with such an intense expression on his face? And why would the one with fins turn his helm to face her, the feeling of his stare boring down upon her even from behind his mask?

Her creators had taught her since the cycle she'd been sparked, that she needed to be cautious and observative of her surroundings and of the mechs and femmes around her. They had told her that she had a sharp processor, that she remembered things longer than the average sparkling, and that she needed to use that to her advantage—and to stop corrupting her processor with energon treats, was what her sire would regularly say to her carrier.

Cerise stuck out the bottom part of her dark pink dermas, making it tremble a little as she remembered the events of her morning that solar cycle. Her sire had confiscated the energon stick that her carrier had been _this_ close to giving to her, and when Cerise didn't get her treat of the day, Cerise gets _mad_.

And when she gets mad, Cerise _plans_. She doesn't cry or throw a tantrum like the regular sparkling does; no, she only cries when her creators get mad at her or when she gets hurt. When she is mad, Cerise starts planning. Either if it's about getting back at a rather mean sparkling at her daycare, or getting what she wants, Cerise thinks of a plan, execute it, and fulfill the mission. Cerise doesn't fail, failure isn't an option for her, because arrogant sparklings should learn their place, her glowing blocks should always be near her, _and she always gets her energon treat of the day!_

Which is why she is here right now, sitting upon her father's desk after having escaped the playpen of the rec. room he had dumped her in, threw an energon bottle at the datapad that controlled the door's mechanics, hitched a ride on one of the trolley carts that usually pass by said rec. room, then slipped right into a vent that was right next to the usually locked door of her sire's office. She had just been scavenging through the assortment of datapads and other objects when the door suddenly slid open and in waltzed these two unknown mechs.

Huh. Looks like the door of her sire's office wasn't 'usually' locked. Go figure.

"A sparkling?" The first mech said aloud, narrowing his optics on her. "What's it doing here?" He continued, not even glancing back at his brightly colored companion.

"Aside from messing up the contents of that desk? No clue," the second mech replied with a shrug.

The first one shot his partner a look that was part 'No duh' and 'Why are you even here?'

Cerise could feel her doorwings perking up in curiosity and intrigue over the two strangers; however, before she could babble out a single word of nonsense, the door slid open once again and her sire walked in with confident strides, accompanied by Gunner—his closest friend, and the one who usually carried her around during energon breaks if her sire was too busy with work to come play with her in the playpen with the other sparklings and the occasional youngling.

"Looks like you two arrived earlier than— _Cerise_?" Judging by the surprised and slightly horrified look on her sire's face, the little femme sparkling knew that she was in trouble. But, despite that, she giggled at the funny expression on his face, her doorwings waving up and down wildly from excitement. "What in Primus's name are you doing _**here**_?" Cruiser's golden optics immediately took note of the mess that his desk had become, and instead vented out loudly.

"You know this sparkling?" The first mech asked, raising an optical ridge before turning his attention back to her.

"I do," Cruiser acknowledged as he made his way towards her and easily plucked her off of his desk, cradling her in one of his large servos. "She's _my_ sparkling, after all," he continued with a drawl before looking down at the bundle of mischief that was completely his sparkmate's spawn. "How did you even escape the playpen? I was sure that Crossroad was there when I left..." He trailed off, before deadpanning when he noticed the gleam in his sparkling's optics. "He left, didn't he?"

Cerise merely smiled toothily, her slowly sharpening dentals glinting brightly from underneath the light's rays.

Cruiser vented out deeply, a long suffering noise that echoed throughout the spacious room. "I should have known," he said, closing his optics for a long moment as he rubbed the space in between his optics.

"Sa!" Cerise chirped, her ruby-colored optics widening a bit as she snuggled up to her sire's chest. "Enowen tweet?" She said with an adorable tilt of her head, jutting her light pink, bottom derma out, making it tremble a bit as she gave him the _look_.

Cruiser stared blankly down at his sparkling, before he deadpanned, "All this for an energon treat?"

Cerise chirped, enthusiastically bobbing her head up and down. "Tweet! Tweet tweet!" She whirred excitedly, clapping her dainty little palms together.

"Hey, captain?" Gunner interrupted their conversation, immediately catching everyone's attention. They all swiveled their gaze to the sharpshooter, then to the aforementioned object that he was pointing at. "I think you should give the sparkling her energon treat. Worked hard for it, she did," he said with an amused smirk, and the two unknown mechs—who have yet to identify themselves, Rouge frowned as she wondered what their designations could be—blanched at the opened air vent that was right next to the door, and the screws that were laid across the ground in a hazardous manner.

Cruiser looked back at his sparkling, deadpanning once again, "All _this_ for an energon treat? Really?"

Cerise chirped, her dermas stretching widely into a photovoltaicat's smile, and she whirred happily in confirmation.

"Wait, wait, wait," a deep voice spoke up, and everyone turned their attention to the only brightly colored and visor-wearing mech in the room. Cruiser cocked one of his optical ridges upwards, a silent action for the unknown mech to continue. "Are you saying that this _sparkling_ ," he emphasized it with an incredulous tone. "Managed to break into this room, without being detected by anybody, _just_ for an energon treat?" he asked.

Cruiser shuttered his optics at the mech, before looking down at Cerise, and then finally looking back up at the eccentrically colored mech. "Cerise _did_ break into my office," he confirmed. "But she certainly didn't get here undetected. This isn't the first time she's escaped from the playpen and broken into my office, and my colleagues are already used to her wandering around the department, and they usually comm. me when they see her..." he stopped at that, and gave his right-hand man an accusing look. "Who you and when?" he asked suspiciously.

Gunner gave his captain a mischievous grin. "Treadfast did about half a groon ago. Besides, I wanted to surprise you again," he said with a cheeky grin, sheepishly rubbing the back of his helm as he finished giving his explanation.

"Then insert a sparring session into your schedule," Cruiser vented out as he moved to the back of his desk to retrieve the canister of energy treats in one of his drawers. "It's been a while since I've beaten your sorry aft into the mats," he smirked at Gunner's exasperated reaction, and smiled softly at his creation once Rouge gave an excited squeak at the energon treat in between his fingers.

A little bit hesitantly, he gave the energon treat to Rouge, all the while cursing Carousel for having spoiled their daughter too much.

"Oh come on! It was just a joke, captain!" Gunner groaned.

Cruiser ignored him, instead choosing to place his attention on the two new recruits that had been sent to him. He placed Cerise back on the desk, and he took his seat. Propping his elbow joints on top of the desk, and lacing his fingers together with his palms parallel to the desk, Cruiser gave the two mechs a cold and calculating look, his golden optics glinting darkly.

Almost immediately, the bright atmosphere in the room disappeared, only to be replaced by a dark and tense one. Automatically, the two recruits snapped to attention, their spinal struts going straight and their servos glued to their sides. Gunner didn't say anything as he silently moved towards Cruiser, standing to his captain's right and wearing the same cold and calculating look on his faceplates.

Rouge's doorwings twitched at the sudden silence in the room, but she didn't say anything, nor did she make it known that her attention had been caught by the sudden silence. It was time for the adults in the room to talk, and she was only a sparkling who shouldn't have any part in the conversation that was about to occur. Her carrier had taught her that.

"State your designation, age, spark place, frame type, frame build, and your current occupation, as well as your former station of work," Cruiser barked. "Starting with you," he said, looking at the mech on his left.

The black and white mech's doorwings stiffened up to attention, and he opened his mouth to speak out. "Sir, designation: Prowl; Age: 13,584 vorns, 34 orns, 2 joors, half a groon, twelve kliks, now thriteen kliks," he listed off, and Gunner raised an optical ridge, amusement twitching his dermas upwards. "Spark place: City of Praxus, within the Altrex district of Level K; Frame type: Grounder; Frame build: Enforcer Military-build; Current occupation: State enforcer; Former station of work: Petrex, sir" he finished.

Cruiser's optical ridges rose. "Petrex?" He said aloud. He looked up at Gunner, sharing a knowing look, before he looked at Prowl. "And they sent you here, why?"

"They had no need for my services anymore," Prowl answered, before adding, "And they found my opinions towards Functionism irritating."

Cruiser nodded, before looking at the other mech.

The brightly colored mech stiffened, but he introduced himself. "Sir, designation: Tumbler; Age: 17, 899 vorns; Spark place: City of Iacon, within the Pycred district of Level L; Frame type: Grounder; Frame build: Modified Civilian build; Current occupation: State Enforcer; Former station of work: Iacon, sir," he finished.

Cruiser and Gunner shared a brief look, before they turned their attention back to the two mechs standing in front of them.

"A Praxian and an Iaconian, huh?" Gunner started, the tone of his module coming off as easy and carefree, but the fire in his narrowed optics spoke otherwise. "A pretty odd pair, if I do say so."

"Sir, permission to sound off, sir?" Prowl requested emotionlessly.

"Sound off," Gunner replied.

"We are not partners," Prowl answered, his doorwings twitching as his dermas twisted into a frown.

"We already know that," Cruiser smoothly intervened, a purse making its way to his dermas. "After all, how can two mechs who've been stationed in Petrex and Iacon beforehand could ever become partners?" Then, his golden optics narrowed. "Do you take me for a mech who can't analyze an explanation properly and efficiently?" He asked lowly.

Prowl's doorwings twitched again, this time out of anxiousness. "Sir, permission to sound off, sir," he said, and Cruiser nodded sharply in reply. "I didn't mean any insults. I shall take note of my words and prevent it from happening again."

There was a strong silence that enveloped the room, and Cerise squirmed a little in discomfort at the uncomfortable air that hung over their helms. Finally, after a moment, Gunner spoke up.

"So the rumors were true," the mech said. "You _are_ a hardaft."

Cruiser didn't even so much as blink at his deputy's words, neither did Rouge who was concentrating on cracking a datapad's security code; Tumbler and Prowl, however, were a different story altogether, considering they were the new arrivals, and their jaws slackened.

"P-Pardon?" Prowl stuttered out, bright blue optics widened in shock.

Gunner rolled his optics. "Captain here didn't take any offense, he was just joking about earlier," he said in a means to change the topic.

"I wasn't," Cruiser drawled, to which Gunner ignored out of _vorns_ of experience.

"You don't have to take captain seriously when he says he'll punish you. He's a real big softie," Gunner continued.

"Don't listen to him. Disobey me, and I'll _pummel_ you," Cruiser said as a matter of fact, speaking the words as if he was just talking about the cyclal condition, making Prowl and Tumbler flinch.

"He was just joking about that one too," Gunner pointed out helpfully.

"No, I was not," Cruiser replied.

"But anyways, I'd like to welcome you to Praxus, as well as to the Praxian Enforcer Department's special division, PSES, AKA the Praxian Special Enforcers SQUAD. I'm the vice-captain, or deputy-in-chief, whatever, Gunner. This is Cruiser, the captain of our two-mech squad, now apparently four," Gunner went on and on, beaming brightly at the end, and stunning the two new arrivals.

"Praxian...Special Enforcers Squad?" Tumbler spoke first, looking incredibly confused. "I...I don't follow, sir. I thought that this was just a simple transfer from branch to branch, not—"

Cruiser cut him off. "Then consider yourselves promoted then," he said, pulling out two cases from one of the many drawers of his desk and tossing it over to the two mechs on the other side of the desk, who caught it with ease.

Prowl and Tumbler looked down at the smooth, metal box that they held in their hands, unsure of what to do with it.

"Sir, this must be a mistake," Tumbler began babbling. "I-I'm hardly fit to be in this team. I'm just a state enforcer, not—not an advance offensive-type like the two of you are."

"Which is why we need you," Cruiser interrupted, making Tumbler snap his dermas shut, his vocalizer immediately ceasing its noise as the words _we need you_. "The both of you," he said, turning to look at Prowl as well. "The PSES had been established _vorns_ ago, but it isn't recognized as an independent elite team because we are simply lacking in members. We reached out to the head of the Praxian Enforcer Department, and asked if they could send us a pair of newly-fledged but experienced and trained recruits to us, so we can admit them into whatever division they'd like to specialize in whilst training them to become official members of the PSES," he explained.

Prowl and Tumbler blinked slowly, processing the words.

Then, Cruiser leaned back into his seat, looking at the two mechs in front of him with sharp golden optics, never missing a beat in calculating their strong and weak points. "However, the two of you can decline this offer," he said, making the two mechs straighten their spinal struts at those words. "All you have to do is give back those boxes, and the two of you can escort yourselves out of my office and sign yourself into the administration officer on the ground floor for transferee enforcers," he detailed. "The PSES isn't looking for non-willing recruits. We're looking for _willing_ ones. But before you make your decision, I'd like to tell the two of you to look me in the optic so that I can tell you something very important," he said.

Prowl and Tumbler hesitantly looked at the higher-ranking officer in the optic, the former's doorwings twitching while the latter's hands were clenching and unclenching softly.

Cruiser stared silently at the two recruits for one very long moment. Then, he finally spoke up. "The two of you were chosen for a reason," he started off, and he could see the grimace that Prowl's faceplates had twisted into; Tumbler, on the other hand, he couldn't see, but could feel the doubt flaring off of his energy field. "Not because two of you were unwanted in your stations, but because there was something _special_ in the two of you that was just wasted in your previous stations, something that the highest commanding officer within your area could see" he continued. "Now, I'm giving you the decision to hone your skills to their best, or throw it away and prove that I was wrong and that there really was nothing special in the two of you," he drawled, finally finishing and relaxing back into his seat with contemplative optics.

Cruiser stared at two mechs, and waited for a whole five kilks before he asked, "so? What're your choices?"

Prowl and Tumbler merely gripped the case in their hands, biting their bottom dermas with a look that looked like comprehension. Then, they closed their optics, taking in a deep breath, before they opened their optics and answered,

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir. I accept your offer."

"I accept."

Cruiser merely grinned in response—a dark, and very, _very_ , satisfied grin that looked as if he was the photovoltaicat that had just caught the boltary.

A shudder went down Prowl and Tumbler's spinal struts, and they had the deep instinctive feeing that they've done something very _wrong_ ; when they looked at Gunner, the nicer one between the two mechs, they saw the same dark grin on his faceplates, and they instantly questioned their original statements.

"Welcome to the Praxian Special Enforcers Squad," Cruiser said, before he stood up, his towering height a reminder to Prowl and Tumbler _why_ exactly this was the commander of a special division that had been established vorns ago. "Training starts tomorrow at six o'clock sharp. Don't be late," was all he'd offered as a last klik advice before he swooped up Cerise into his servos and walked out of the room, the doors automatically closing behind him.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 25, 561

 **Time of Finish:** January 24, 2015 at 1:01 P.M.

* * *

 **Prizes of the Winners:**

Uuugh, i can't remember uuugh, but I know one of them asked for a continuation of Rouge's story so WA-LA! A continuation, and I bet none of you were expecting that huh? It'll be explained down below I guess.

* * *

 **Winner(s) of this Chapter:**

NONE NONE NONE NOOOONE. Not accepting right now, since things are getting _really_ hectic in my life right now. It'll open again in the next chapter, so you guys gotta earn some of dem points k?

* * *

 **Question/Task of this Chapter:**

Well, I've been thinking, and I want to get to know what kind of people my readers are.

So, let me start off by asking a very serious question I guess.

What was the last lie you've told?

Well, for me, I guess you can say that the last lie I've ever told right now was that I didn't have a crush on somebody, and that they're not my type. _ I'm sure many of you peeps can relate to me, what with most of you being hormonal teenagers slash young adults (hey, you gotta admit, puberty doesn't really fade away until you've reached past 23 I guess.)

Anyways, I've told _my_ answer, what are yours?

* * *

 **AN:** _To be perfectly honest with ya'll, at the beginning of the chapter, I've researched a few things about cosmic rust, and I didn't like what few information that was available on Transformers wiki. I know this is the reason for why Ironhide (and Skids and Mudflap, but only in the novel) had died, which in turn made me super curious about it_ — _because HAVE YOU SEEN THE SAD CHROMIA/IRONHIDE FANFICS AND FANARTS?! And judging by how super impossible to make the cure looks right now, the only thing I can best offer is a way to prevent it in the future via Vitallium the awesome medic ahaha._

 _So...I wonder if you've noticed it, but what line's been used the most here? XD_

 _Anyways, I'm sure you guys have some questions, but I'll be sure to clear it up in this little section here:_

 **Crashthrough is Breakdown? Or, wait, _BREAKDOWN_ is _CRASHTHROUGH?_**

Why yes, yes he is. It's should have been a little obvious—I mean, who _else_ has yellow optics on red faceplates with dark blue and silver armor? Well, I think some of you don't know it, because maybe the majority of you are the Transformers movie fanatics, and maybe some of you who've watched the cartoon series think that I'm just making a _really_ good Breakdown ripoff here ahahaha. But nope, Crashthrough's Breakdown, and that's the reality here folks.

 **But...But _why?_ _HOW?_**

Well, to those of you who've watched Transformers Prime, I'm sure most of you know who the hell Breakdown is and what the hell "Hammer Time" is. Check out Prime!Breakdown's backstory—former Autobot wrecker, now Decepticon officer with an intense bromance with his partner, Knockout. But what makes you curious is, well, what's his past _before_ that? To those who have a gist of the 1898 Transformers cartoons, I'm sure you know Breakdown as our beloved Stunticon with one hell of an anxiety problem. So combine Prime!Breakdown and G1!Breakdown, you get, well, _this_ I guess? Except that Miracles!Breakdown is different because the beginning of G1!Breakdown's life is his past, and Prime!Breakdown was _supposed_ to be his future, and that should have been my original plan for him, to be an ex-Decepticon that joined the Autobots only to go back to the Decepticons because of some betrayal shit that I'd rather explain in the future ahaha, but, well, things change, plans change, and an original character I'd created was missing some, well, _juice_ in it so I thought, _'Why don't I just make this character be the one to find Breakdown before the Autobots do?'_

And, well, I guess one unbreakable relationship between Vitallium and Breakdown had been formed.

 **Why's Knock Out here? Isn't he supposed to be a Decepticon?**

Well, _yeah_ , he's supposed to be one, but, well, the _future_ changed, or, to be more specific, the _timeline_ changed I guess ahaha. I'll explain it in the future, promise, when all's been revealed :) Besides, aren't you guys happy that Breakdown and Knockout are together? ;) But them staying alive...I'm not really sure—let's just see in the future, alright? Because, like I said, this story _does_ have a mind of its own ahaha, and it's been planned since way long before that Knockout and Breakdown and a few other characters will be a a part of the Neutral side.

 **So, ugh, who knows about Crashthrough...?**

Well, for now, Vitallium knows about this. Knockout knows that Crashthrough had once been a Decepticon before he defected into the Neutral side, but that's all. And Lax knows as well, but Crashthrough doesn't have a single idea that Lax knows about it :)

 **Why are you doing this?**

Like I've said before, _I_ don't control the story. The story controls itself. There'll be no votings here, but I'll accept everyone's opinions to be honest. I just know the summary of this story, but I also need help _conveying_ it to you people ahaha, so all's help is welcome ahaha. However, I _do_ accept votes, regarding which character's past you'd want to see next ahaha.

 **Rouge's backstory...?**

Hmmm. Well, it'll have a small mix of IDW!Prowl and (as you comic-addicts know about) Tumbler! Her dad, Cruiser, is pretty important mech, and he'll be playing a large part in her backstory along with Carousel and Proxy and Gunner. You won't see that much Prowl and Tumbler interacting with Rouge, but they _do_ know each other and have a kind of close bond.

Prowl just sees Rouge has his superior's sparkling, who likes to give him energont treats when Cruiser isn't looking, but he _does_ grow to be fond of the sparkling. Tumbler, on the other hand, is Rouge's favorite person to climb because she's the first mech she's ever actually met who doesn't have an Enforcer-build, and she finds his frame interesting.

 **Next Character Background?**

Well, I've already _written_ everybody's background to be honest. Rouge, Vitallium, Domino, Venompoint, Crashthrough, Knock Out, and a lot more characters that I have yet to introduce to the team—however, they're only the most basic of plots, and I haven't really written them into an actual extra story or anything, just a small step by step biography of each Transformer.

I'm sure that I'll be adding another Rouge extra in the next or next next chapter, but I think I'm also planning on adding either Crashthrough's or Vitallium's, since there's gonna be a few surprises for them in the story that are essential for the readers to know what had happened to them before.

 _Anyways, that's all I can reveal for now, so adios amigos and amigas._

* * *

By the way, I'd like to say that to whoever's interested in helping me with this story, AKA acting as my BETA, I'd like to say that it's open and I'm looking for someone to help me. My co-author's been really busy, so she hasn't been able to help me with grammar checks (i'm too lazy for that =_=").

Basically, if you apply as my BETA, you'd just be checking the grammar since I'm too lazy for that shit. So...who's interested? If you are, just PM me and we'll see, ok?


	9. Chapter 9

**In Which Miracles Do Happen**

 **Written by:** ** _CherryDrug_**

 **Disclaimer** : _No, I do NOT own the Transformers of any of its franchise characters, places, etc; nor do I own any other places or brands of song lyrics written here in tho story. What I do own, however, is the plot of this story, my original characters, AND myself. So please, don't bother copying off of me and I am not really fond of human trafficking. So, if you see anything that seems to be copyrighted, it is NOT TO BE FUCKING INTENDED, capishce?_

 **Rating** _ **:**_ _For the mean time, it'll be a T-rated fic (so any kiddies out there who isn't comfortable with sexual innuendoes, jokes, pranks, etc; violence; inappropriate language; you know what I'm talking about... stop reading, k? If you are though, read on!) that'll soon become an M-rated fic, if I'm motivated in the right direction (and if I have enough guts to write a gory or smutty scene)._

 **Genre:** _Humor (just mainly that), Adventure, Drama, Action, Sci-Fi, Angst, Friendship, Family, and... ROMANCE (some time down the road~ [but obviously not now])_

 **Characters** **:** _A lot. Just a lot._

 **Summary:** _A lot of things can happen in the matter of a minute. Someone dying, someone living, but for me? In just a matter of a minute, I've been brought into a world I know all too well and dragged into a war I never even wanted to partake in. A miracle? Fraggit, this is more like a curse!_

 **Pairing(s) (for this chapter)** **:** _NA_

* * *

 **Cybertron's Units of Time:**

Astrosecond: .498 Earth second  
Nano-klik: 1 Earth second (I don't normally use this though...)  
Klik: 1.2 Earth minutes  
Breem: 8.3 Earth minutes.  
Groon: 1 Earth hour  
Cycle: 1.25 Earth hours  
Joor: 8 Earth Hours  
Solar Cycle: 1 Earth day  
Lunar Cycle: 1 Earth month  
Orn: 13 Earth days  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar Cycle: 7.5 Earth months  
Meta-Cycle: 13 Earth months.  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

* * *

 **CHAPTER 9**

 **In Which Frozen Mangoes Are My Sanctuary**

* * *

I'd like to healthily point out that I've fainted twice as much as I've arrived on Cyberton than the past seventeen years I've lived as a human, and this was speaking a lot, since I've only lived on Cybertron for a twelfth of a year—suffice to say, when my systems rebooted themselves and the cloud of darkness hazing my processor had vanished, I wasn't in the best of moods.

But seriously, who the hell would be in a good mood if they woke up from fainting and with a throbbing migraine pounding against their processor? Would you? If you said yes, then I'd like to congratulate you with the award of 'Inhumane' because I'm sure as hell _nobody_ will wake up with thoughts of ' _Ah~ I just **love** waking up with a migraine! 3' _with the mother of all migraines trapped in their head.

"Have a good recharge?" Somebody's deep voice cut straight into the silence that I'd woken up to, and I snapped my helm to face the source of where that voice had come from. My optics narrowed in on the familiar hot red paintjob of Knock Out, who was looking at me with a raised optical ridge as he cleaned his medical tools, and I groaned audibly as I sat up, stuffing my faceplates into the palm of my hands.

I had wished that what had happened prior to my fainting had just all been a really bad yet amazing dream. That Knock Out wasn't really here on Cybertron, and that Crashthrough wasn't a traitor who had ratted out our group's deepest and darkest secret to _Knock Out_ of all mechs, and that he may or may not have been Breakdown in disguise.

If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought I was in some crappy fan fiction with one hell of a plot twist. Ugh.

"I'm guessing you didn't," Knock Out said, and I noticed that his voice sounded a little bit louder than before, which meant that he'd either raised his voice or come closer to me.

Peeking through my fingers, I saw that he'd placed the item he was cleaning down on a metal tray and that he was slowly making his way towards me. Despite the pulses of serenity and _Calm down_ that the foreign object within me was relaying to me, I tensed up, making the armor protecting my shoulders flare out, and in turn making me notice that I no longer had my cloak on anymore, which meant that my sleek frame was exposed to anybody who was in the room right now.

Knock Out merely rolled his optics at my reaction, and he stopped where he stood, crossing his servos over his chest. "Oh calm down, will you? I promised Crashthrough that I wouldn't hurt you," he said. "And I keep my promises to him, no matter what," he added, optics darkening a little.

That still didn't make me feel any better.

Scanning the entirety of the room while still keeping my front facing Knock Out, I noticed something that unsettled me. "Where's Crashthrough? And where's my cloak too?" I asked him.

"That ratty old thing?" Knock Out said with a grimace of disgust, and I frowned at him. It wasn't really mine to begin with, but it wasn't _really_ ratty. Old, maybe. Well-worn, most likely. Dirty, yes. But it wasn't _really_ ratty, since there were no holes in it, and it shielded my true gender really well. "It's with Crashthrough right now. As if I'd let such a _hideous_ thing in my medbay," he said.

I furrowed my optical ridges at him, tightly gripping the edge of the medical berth that I was currently seated upon. "And Crashthrough?" I insisted.

Knock Out raised an optical ridge at me, and I hardened my glare at him. His dermas twisted themselves into a smirk, dentals glinting underneath the light of the medbay, and I suppressed the urge to bristle at the threatening appearance he made. "O-ho, scared now that your master isn't here, pet?" He questioned me, and this time I did bristle.

"He's not my master," I snarled, baring my dentals at him, feeling _incredibly_ insulted that I was being treated as _property_ of all things. "I'm _nobody's_ pet. _Nobody_ owns me, or do I have to pound that into your processor, _mech_?" I threatened, raising a clenched fist.

Knock Out didn't raise his servos just as Crashthrough would have; instead, the brightly painted mech's raised optical ridge rose even further. "First of all, it's _processors,_ not _processor_. We're sentient beings, not machines, so get your vocabulary checked," he corrected me, sounding irritated at me—but _hey_ , he didn't have to say that I was a pet in the first place, so _hah_! "And there's no need to get all violent over a _joke_ ," he said with a roll of his optics.

I twitched at that one—because it sure as hell didn't sound like a joke—and gritted my dentals. I knew Knock Out was a sassy bastard, even more so before Breakdown died in the cartoons, but I wasn't expecting _this_ level of assholeness from him. Ugh. "Can you just tell me where Crashthrough is so that I can get the frag out of here?" I demanded, because even if I didn't know the layout of this maze, I sure as hell didn't want to be _here_ of all places.

"He's down in the Pit, getting ready for his fight," Knock Out said, jabbing a thumb behind him where the entire section of a wall was made of glass. I shuttered my optics, already pushing myself off of the medical berth and making my towards the large, floor to ceiling, glass window. "And are you positively sure that you would want to go out like that, without that disgusting thing covering you?" I heard Knock Out point out, and I didn't deign him with an answer; instead flushing brightly in embarrassment when I remembered that Crashthrough had my cloak, and I had no means of leaving this medbay until he came back.

I stopped in front of the large window, and gazed out of it. My optics widened when I was met with the sight of a stadium filled with mechs, and I stumbled back, feeling an icy feeling shoot through my energon cables, and making me feel _frightened_ for a very good reason.

"Oh, don't worry, that glass is tinted from the outside, so every mech outside won't know what's happening in here," Knock Out explained, and I could hear the amusement in his voice, making me flush even brighter. "Unless some clumsy gladiator breaks it from the outside, we're screwed," he said it so nonchalantly that I couldn't help but imagine it happening.

A gladiator being tossed through this window. Shards flying everywhere. Knock Out cursing up a storm because a few shards had managed to nick his armor. Me being stared at by every mech out there as my secret had been revealed. Venompoint staring down at me with dark red optics and a savage snarl, the purplish glow of his virused energon daggers gleaming brightly as one swung towards the cabling located in my neck—

I shuddered, deciding to erase that image of my helm rolling around the ground, and I turned to glare at Knock Out, not finding his joke funny in the very least.

Knock Out merely gave me that same insufferable smirk of his, and I huffed as I turned away from, thoroughly tired off his attitude, and went back to stand in front of the glass, noticing that the arena was half filled to the brim with mechs. In the very center of the arena, there was a huge and circular battlefield that made me feel tempted to jump through this glass and run laps around it.

Don't ask why. It just popped into my processor—oh, wait, I meant _processors_ , as Knock out had so kindly corrected me.

I squinted my optics once I'd noticed something peculiar within the battlefield—and I reeled back in horrified shock once I realized what it had been, with the energon churning quite uncomfortably within my tanks. There was no mistaking the vivid, purplish pink liquid that stained the battlefield's floors, and I cringed at the sight, both terrified and disgusted by it, but I tried my very best to push it down, because I should have expected this the minute Crashthrough had told me that he'd be bringing me to the Gladiatorial Pit.

"Where are the gladiators?" I asked quietly, my optics flickering from mech to mech sitting in the arena. Most of them seemed the same to me—mechs with dully colored armor covered from helm to pede with either dirt or rust or maybe even both. There were only a handful of mechs that had their appearance as well-maintained as Crashthrough's, a fewer that looked as shiny as Knock Out but most of the mechs tended to move away from those shiny-armored mechs.

"They're getting prepared for now. They'll come out in a couple of kliks," Knock Out told me, and I tensed up when I noticed that he was just a few feet away from me, looking out of the window just as I had been doing not so long ago.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the atmosphere hovering above our helms, and I pressed my armor tighter to me, not liking this situation one bit.

"Crashthrough's going to be fighting next, you know," Knock Out announced offhandedly, and I snapped my helm to face him, surprise written all over my features. I'd known that he'd be fighting, but not in the next round; maybe I should have expected it, because Crashthrough wouldn't have to take so long to prepare for a battle unless he was up next.

I forced myself to relax, despite the worry and concern that bloomed from within my chestplates, amplified by the strong emotions that the foreign object within me pulsed with. "Who's he fighting up against?" I asked, looking at him in the optics for the very first time.

Knock Out didn't look back at me, his concentration mainly focused on the empty battlefield. "You'll see," was all he'd deigned to tell me, before he crossed his servos over his chest and put most of his weight onto one side of his pede until he was slightly leaning to the side.

I would have asked him for more, but when I heard the sound of the crowd screaming loudly and wildly, I merely gave him a weird look before turning to face the window. When I looked through the window, my attention was immediately enraptured by the two mechs entering the battlefield. I recognized one of them as Crashthrough, his dark blue and silver armor gleaming brightly underneath the glare of the lights, with a gigantic war hammer grasped tightly in his left hand, and seemingly easily carrying what seemed like 6 tons of pure metal.

(I resisted the urge to gasp, because with that hammer on, Crashthrough really _did_ look like Breakdown right now, and I was once again berating my stupidity for having not noticed the resemblances sooner.)

My gaze drifted off to the other mech who too was making his way to the center of the battlefield. Crashthrough's opponent was unfamiliar to me (thank Primus. I didn't think I could handle another important character of the Transformers franchise popping out after just discovering _two_ of them). He had a build similar to Venompoint's: tall with slightly wide shoulders to make him seem intimidating and scary, and his paintjob was a dark purple with silver accents, which didn't really seem to me as outstanding or striking in the very least; even the sword in his hand screamed out mediocre compared to Crashthrough's war hammer. The only thing he had going for him was the silver mouthguard covering the lower part of his faceplates, but that was it.

I watched as the two mechs stopped in front of the other, and I could practically feel the tense atmosphere that hovered above them as they regarded one another, trying to pinpoint each other's weak spots and what to look out from the other.

I jumped slightly when I heard the announcer's voice, and I immediately tried to pinpoint his location in the battlefield, only to find him a few nano-kliks later in one of the stadium boxes located in the wall adjacent to where Knock Out's clinic was.

"WARRIORS AND MECHS!"

I didn't know whether to be affronted by such an introduction, only to remember that there weren't supposed to be any femmes roaming around the surface of Cybertron.

"What are you to Crashthrough?" I heard Knock Out question me, and I turned my helm to face him again, barely catching the designation of Crashthrough's opponent. Backstrut. I stepped to the side when I noticed that he was a foot closer to me, and I suspiciously narrowed my optics at him. But I shuttered my optics when I remembered he'd asked me a question, and I silently mulled over it for a moment, weighing what _exactly_ was my relationship with Crashthrough, before commonly deciding what Crashthrough had thought of me as.

"A friend," I answered, just as the announce exuberantly exclaimed for the gladiators to take their positions. I watched with rapt attention as Crashthrough and Backstrut moved to their corresponding sides without even bowing in respect to one another, and taking their positions, weapons tightly grasped in their hold. "What about you?" I asked him, just to keep the conversation going.

"A very close friend," Knock Out smoothly replied, but I didn't bother to glance back at him once the announcer had announced that the battle would start in 3,2,1, and GO. "How did the two of you meet?" He asked me once again, and it took me a klik to answer it because I was too engrossed in the fight happening before me.

Backstrut had been the first one to make a move. He'd lunged towards Crashthrough, taking but only six long strides to reach Crashthrough and make a swipe at his chassis. Crashthrough had immediately retaliated by raising his war hammer to parry the blow, which had been quite a strong one judging by the step he was forced to take back.

"He was friends with the mechs who found me," I answered simply.

"Found you?" I heard Knock out question aloud, but I didn't deign him with an answer, too absorbed with the fight going on. "Now that you've mentioned it, where _did_ you come from? It's almost impossible for a lone femme like you to have survived for so long," Knock Out told me, just as Crashthrough retaliated by swinging his weapon forward, causing a strong gale of wind to fly about around them, and in turn forcing Backstrut to jump a few feet backwards to dodge the attack, before he lunged forward once again to deliver another blow that Crashthrough easily blocked. This continued on for a couple of kliks, and I took the time to answer Knock Out's question.

"I wasn't sparked on Cybertron," I began, watching as Crashthrough _finally_ switched from the defensive to the offensive by swiftly wrapping his hand around the smaller mech's wrist and bringing Backstrut forward so that he could headbutt him in the forehead. "I was sparked on an organic planet far from Cybertron, with a loving and caring family. All was well, until I was _forced_ to leave my planet because of... special circumstances," I bit out, telling myself to _not_ feel anything. I was just telling him about from where I'd come from, and how I'd gotten here before he could even ask that question—so there was really no need for me to feel so fucking emotional of all things. But that still didn't stop the immense bitterness from welling up within my gut and rising up to my throat, making me feel as if I wanted to vomit my stomach out. "I was barely into my adult frame when I had to leave. I didn't know how long it'd taken me to reach _Cybertron_ , of all places, but when I finally landed, Domino and Venompoint had been the ones who found me and brought me back to their territory," I recalled, watching as Backstrut stumbled back in both surprise and pain.

I resisted the urge to outwardly gasp when I saw Crashthrough swing his hammer back and _into_ Backstrut's chassis, creating a very large dent in the smaller mech's armor. I could see even from Knock Out's medbay that Backstrut had coughed out a large amount of life energon before his entire frame gave way and he flew across the arena, where his back slammed against a wall and in turn creating a small, uneven crater within the wall.

"An organic planet?" Knock Out questioned, sounding both interested and curious about this particular detail of my life. "What is it like?" He asked me, and I turned my helm to see his dark red optics had taken on a shine reminiscent of a child, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight he'd made.

"Well for one, it's dirty," I said, offering up the disadvantages of my home planet, before I strayed my optics to the fight where I watched as Backstrut struggled to get up as Crashthrough slowly neared him. I looked back at Knock Out, and snorted at the grimace that was currently twisting his faceplates. "There's dirt _everywhere_ , but that's to be expected because my home had been an organic place where organic life grew from," I explained, and laughed lightly as Knock Out's faceplates twisted even more. "But, for all it's dirtiness, it's a beautiful place that I've come to love," I vented lowly, a small smile curving my dermas upwards as I wistfully remembered about my home. "A sky that regularly changes color from blue to orange to black every day, with stars glowing brightly in the evening accompanied by the moon and a bright sun in the morning with wisps of white clouds that can take any kind of shape. Blue oceans that stretch far and wide around, with life swimming about in its depths and even lost secrets hidden even deeper. Lands that come in different forms are filled to the brim with life crawling about its surface, and unlike Cybertron that's a world living on electricity and energon," I said, trying my best not to insult Cybertron. "My home planet had been created to _support_ the life living on it, with natural resources blooming everywhere," I said, and paused when I saw Backstut force himself to his pedes, trying his best to hold his shaky frame up.

I felt the foreign object within me clench at his determination to keep fighting, and I briefly closed my optics to offer a silent prayer up to Primus that Backstrut would be able to get out of this alive. I received no answer in return.

"How did you live with the other species in your planet?" I vaguely heard Knock Out ask me, and it took me a moment to answer his question and I watched as Crashthrough stopped in the very middle of the battlefield.

My optics widened in surprise when I saw Crashthrough drop his war hammer onto the ground, and the sound of the metal colliding with dirt-covered metal ground had been muted by the crowd's enthusiastic roars. I watched as Crashthrough and Backstrut stared at one another, before Crashthrough promptly took on a fighting stance, feet apart and fists raised to shield his face.

There is a tense silence that hovers above them, and though i can't hear it because of the crowd, I could practically _feel_ it.

A fighter's duel. The proper way to fight, with only your body as your weapon. I briefly nibbled my bottom derma, feeling worried for both mechs. A gladiator's duel ended in death, I already knew that. If Crashthrough had died, I knew i would mourn for the mech because he'd been nothing but kind and accommodating to me since I'd arrived. Backstrut, on the other hand, was a total stranger to me, but I couldn't help but feel sorrowful for his death because he was still a living and though not a breathing being, he was still _alive_.

And the though of someone dying made the foreign object within me clench painfully.

And, though it saddens me to admit this, I'd feel a teensy weensy bit said if one of my former bullies died, because I'd been taught better and to appreciate life no matter how it may be.

I then remembered that Knock Out has asked me, and ripped my gaze from the fight. "Oh," I started off. "I guess you can say we lived in peace," I answered.

I watched as surprise bloomed upon Knock Out's face. "Peace?" He said, the word sounding a little bit foreign on his tongue, especially when we were on a war-ridden planet. "You didn't try to enslave them?" He asked me. "How strong are these organics?"

I resisted the urge to laugh at his questions. "Depends. Which organic are we talking about? There are a lot of them, but only one specie differed from the rest because of their adaptiveness and critical thinking. That particular specie had already assumed control of their world by the time my ancestors landed on their planet," I weave a good story, remembering a plot from one particular sci-fi novel.

"That one," Knock Out said immediately. "How strong was that specie, that you couldn't even colonize their planet for Cybertron?"

"Well, they're really small, like, probably half the size of my servo," I said, raising my servo for emphasis, and Knock Out's optics bulged slightly. "They're weak, and they're bodies aren't made of metal like ours are. They're made of flesh and blood, unlike our metal and energon," I explained. "They also wound easily and catch diseases much more commonly. Most of their life spans barely reach an entire vorn," I added.

"And you couldn't even enslave them?" Knock Out asked me, looking doubtful and disappointed.

This time, I frowned, and narrowed my optics at him. "What right did we have to enslave them, when it was their planet we landed on and decided to call home?" I snapped, furrowing my optical ridges and giving him a sharp glare. "Just because two different species, coming from two different planets, with two different cultures and ideals met for the first time, it doesn't mean that everything has to be decided with war," I said, my engine growling a bit. "Like I said, we co-existed in peace. I was told that we were treated with hostility at first, because of our differences in size and appearance, but they slowly grew to accept us as the years passed by," I told him, trying to calm myself down.

Knock Out looked thoughtful for a moment, and he would have asked something, had the referee not spoken up for the first time since the fight had started.

"AND IT SEEMS THAT CRASHTRHOUGH WILL ONCE AGAIN PREVAIL AND DEFEND HIS TITLE AS A GLADIATOR!" The referee cried out, and my gaze was instantly drawn to the match happening down below.

What I saw made my hands fly up to mute the gasp that had forced its way out of my throat, my optics widening at the display happening before me and probably a hundred other mechs today. It had seemed, whilst Knock Out and I were conversing, that Crashthrough and Backstrut had let their fists do the talking to the fight. Dents marred both of their armor, Backstrut's even more and _much_ deeper compared to Crashthrough's, and I could see that Backstrut had managed to land a strike on Crashthrough's face, if the three-clawed scars on Crashthrough's left cheek that bled an unusual amount of energon were anything to talk about.

And right now, Backstrut had his back on the ground, his entire frame heaving, his faceplates twisted into an expression that was part anger but part fear for the inevitable; Crashthrough, on the other hand, was towering over Backstrut, venting roughly, and his shoulders threatening to sag from the exertion of energy he'd wasted.

I could hear the crowd going absolutely crazy as a blade shifted out of the armor in Crashthrough's wrist, and he went down on the floor on knee, the tip of his weapon poised over the center of Backstrut's chassis. I felt the foreign object within me pulsed at this display, fear wracking my entire body and I suddenly found myself frozen to the spot, unable to tear my gaze off of what was about to happen to Backstrut.

But then, Crashthrough seemed to pull back, the blade shifting back to his wrist, and he _stood up_.

Stunned silence filled the entire arena, and I felt myself minutely relax, hoping against hope that what I was seeing was right and that Backstrut would _live_.

Crashthrough turned away from Backstrut's fallen body, and began walking away. The crowd instantly reacted in a negative way, furious and agitated yells echoing off of the mechs who acted as audiences, with booing sounds every now and then.

I turned to Knock Out, my faceplates taking on a relieved expression, until something dawned on me.

Gladiator battles ended with one victor and one corpse.

"He's not done yet," Knock Out's voice broke me out of my horrified realization. "Look," he said, his clawed finger pointing at something through the glass window, and I immediately snapped my helm to the side to see what was going on.

Crashthrough hadn't walked away; he'd walked _towards_ something. I watched as Crashthrough bent down to pick up Backstrut's sword, the blade gleaming underneath the glare of the arena's lights, and almost immediately the crowd's booing and angry shouts transformed into cheers once again as they chanted a single phrase that I couldn't for the life of me understand.

A neon green box appeared within my mindscape, but I stored it away, too concentrated in the battle to even glance at the contents written in the notification box.

I watched as Crashthrough walked back to Backstrut in long and slow strides, carrying his opponent's sword in one hand. Finally, he stopped in front of Backstrut's frame, and I could see that Crashthrough was looking down at Backstrut with a dark expression upon his features compared to Backstrut's unreadable one because of the mouthguard.

And then, the moment that almost everyone had been waiting for, Crashthrough wrapped both of his hands around the hilt of Backstrut's sword, poised the tip over Backstrut's chassis, raised it over his head, _**then it plunged it downwards**_.

I watched in complete horror as Backstrut seemed to _spasm_ uncontrollably for a few moments that felt more like _hours_ to me, and I could even see from here how Backstrut's optics dimmed then brightened in a terrifyingly cruel manner that _I should turn away from_.

But I didn't.

I watched every single moment of Backstrut's demise. I watched as his frame suddenly stilled, before it completely slackened; I watched as his helm fell back against the ground, the color in his optics slowly dying out until all that was left was a deathly grey shade that I knew would haunt me in my dreams when I would recharge later; I watched as the color slowly drained out of Backstrut's armor, until all that was left were dull shades of colors that had once been his paintjob; I watched everything, and I couldn't even look away.

Everything suddenly felt numb on the outside, and I vaguely noticed the crowd screaming their approval as Crashthrough pulled Backstrut's sword out of his chassis. I felt my vision cloud about, marred with black spots, as I concentrated on what was happening _inside of me_.

The foreign object reacted to Backstrut's death in a very negative way. Instead of pulses or throbs, it reacted by emitting out _screams_. It felt as if it was slowly growing within me, pushing against the casing that kept it within, as it kept emitting screams that felt more like lightning wracking against my insides, filling my entire being with pain as emotions and feelings whirled about into a catastrophic thunderstorm.

I didn't know how to handle the sudden influx of emotions that the foreign object within me had poured out for a total stranger's death— _Sadness. Grief. Despair. Anger. Fury. Disappointment. Sorrow_ —and I vaguely managed to decipher the words that it was trying to convey to me.

 _Why is this happening?_ _For what reason?_ _Why kill?_ _Did you enjoy it?_ _Why cause pain?_ _To what extent?_ _Why destroy? What good came out of it? Why do you children fight like so? Don't you know how to spare? Why eliminate a spark? Why terminate your own brother? Why do you allow grief and pain to consume you? Why do you let it consume others? Why didn't you stop? Why did you continue? Why didn't you choose mercy instead?_

 _Why why why why why why why why does death have to be the answer to almost everything now?_

A hand clamping down on my shoulder suddenly startled me out of my thoughts, and I immediately reacted out of instinct. My hand immediately flew to grasp the wrist that the hand was connected to, and I whirled around, my optics blazing, and I pulled my dermas back to reveal my canines as I raised my other hand that already had its claws out, poised to _claw_ , whilst the other was too preoccupied in painfully gripping the slightly twisted appendage in its hold.

I immediately met the surprised faceplates of Knock Out, his dark red optics meeting mine.

And then, something clicked, and I remembered where I was and what I had just done.

Almost instantly, as if I'd been holding scalding water, I let go of his wrist and backed away until my wings were painfully and tightly pressed against the cold surface of the glass window. "I—" I started, only to stammer out a bunch of words that didn't make any sense, and clamped my dermas shut instead, deciding that the best thing to do was to shut up and look down, with my frame ever tense and stiff.

It was evident to me that shame was curling within the depths of my energon tanks as embarrassment burned my faceplates a dark pink. I'd lost control of myself—all because of a _stranger's_ death—and I'd nearly clawed off Knock Out's face if I hadn't returned to my senses quickly enough too. I fidgeted on my pedes, nervous to meet the red mech's gaze.

I heard Knock Out mutter something incorrigible that I couldn't pick up, before I heard him vent out loudly. "Hey," his deep voice sliced through the tense and awkward silence. "Are you okay?" He asked me, and I pursed my lips, weighing the positive and negative effects of talking to him.

Instead, I chose to quietly bob my helm up and down, still too nervous to utter a single word.

I could clearly hear Knock Out release a heavy and stress-filled vent, before I saw a clawed hand appear within my vision. Shuttering my optics, my gaze trailed up the servo that the hand was connected to, until it passed by a rimmed chassis and finally landed on Knock Out's admittedly devilish faceplates that were twisted into an expression of slight concern that had been shadowed by pure annoyance.

"Come on," Knock Out beckoned, curling his clawed fingers a little bit, and causing the appendages to glint underneath the light, and my gaze strayed towards those dangerous weapons, feeling a little uneasy with their sharpness. "Let me get you some energon treats, then we can talk about it," he said, and I wordlessly stared at him for a very long moment.

Normally, I would have denied his offer, because I didn't _need_ to talk, I could handle whatever storm was brewing up inside of me yet again—but now, when the storm within me was just _too much_ to handle for little ole me to contain, when someone had _finally_ offered some conversation that I _really needed_ after so long, who the hell was I to deny such a blessing? Especially when life couldn't get even more fucked up, huh?

"Okay," I muttered, reluctantly clasping his hand with my own and resisting the urge to flinch when his claws wrapped around my hand into a firm grip. I let myself be dragged over to a medical berth where Knock Out barked at me to 'sit' and I obediently did so, planting my aft on the cold metal. I watched as he rummaged over the contents within one of the many cabinets of his medbay.

"Was this your first time seeing a Transformer offlined?" Knock Out asked me conversationally, and I pondered for a few nano-kliks on what answer I should tell him.

"Not really," I said carefully. "I've seen it in videos, but never like—like _this_ ," I vented out. "I've never seen someone killed right before my ey— _optics_ ," I corrected myself, shuddering a little when I remembered the purplish-pink life energon that bubbled out of Backstrut's mouth, his entire frame convulsing as his systems overcharged from trying their very best to close up the fatal wound that just wouldn't stop _bleeding_ , the way his optics just _went grey and_ —

The sight of something glowing a purplish-pink color made me snap out of my train of thoughts and reel away in surprise. I shuttered my optics at the several stick of glowing... _something_ in Knock Out's hand, and I lifted my gaze to give him an unsure and bemused look.

"Here," he told me, and promptly dropped the radioactive shit in my hands. I didn't know whether to throw them far across the room or hold it; anyways, I did the latter, not wanting to be rude. "Eat," Knock Out told me, and I switched between staring at what was deemed to be an energon treat and at Knock Out's faceplates, unsure if the substance in my hands was poisonous or anything. Having seen the look of reluctance on my face, Knock Out merely vented out and picked up an energon treat from my hand and began nibbling on the treat.

The action was endearingly adorable.

"See?" He told me in between devouring the energon treat. "It's edible. A little bland, but it's still sweet," he said, wiping the leftover energon juices on his fingers with a rag that he'd subspaced out.

I looked down at the energon treat and slowly picked one up with my other hand. I stared at it unsurely with narrowed optics, before biting off a part and chewing experimentally. I shuttered my optics once the flavor immediately hit me. Knock Out was wrong; the energon wasn't bland at all, it was _really_ sweet, sweeter than the regular energon I'd drink and it had a crunchy texture to it as well. It was like eating a chocolate rage bar all over again.

Overall, it wasn't really all that bad, I thought as I began nibbling my way through another energon treat. Knock Out had given me six pieces, multiplied that by the time it had taken me to eat a single treat, and with the help of my fucking super robot brain, I was able to calculate the time it would take for me to finish my treat.

Which was right about now.

"You like it?" Knock Out asked me, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

I flushed a little in embarrassment as I licked the leftover energon off my fingers. No use in wasting some very good food; nonetheless, I nodded my helm.

"Would you believe me if I said that was how Crashthrough and I met?" Knock Out said offhandedly, but that made me shutter my optics and look at him with interest bubbling up inside of me.

Even from the cartoons and comics, when Crashthrough had still been Breakdown, I had no clue about how the two mechs had even become friends in the first place; much less how they even _met._ And now that Crashthrough was no longer Breakdown, and that both Crashthrough and Knock Out weren't Decepticons in this universe, the story behind their meeting really piqued my curiosity. Because the Decepticon faction had most likely been their only connection to one another, so if they were no longer Decepticons, how did the two of them meet? Or maybe they'd met when they were Decepticons and had defected together?

Fuuuck. This is what happens when I overthink a lot of things. Crazy conspiracy theories just start popping out from nowhere and I have to deal with the and sort them out accordingly.

"He gave you energon treats?" I asked

Knock Out's smirk grew softer; until all that was left of it was a soft smile upon his face. I shuttered my optics, refusing to believe such a sight. Knock Out rarely smiled truly in the world of fiction, much preferring smirks and suave smiles, and to see him smiling so softly and gently; I couldn't believe my optics.

"He gave me a fighting chance to survive," Knock Out clarified, and I looked down at my empty hands where the energon treats had been, completely mystified.

Huh. Who would have known energon treats could give anybody a fighting chance. But hey, if this was their version of chocolate, then I couldn't really blame Knock Out.

I raised an optical ridge at Knock Out. "What do you mean?"

Knock Out looked away from me, a solemn expression upon his faceplates with his dermas pursed thinly. "I was a Decepticon once before," he informed me, and I widened my optics to look shocked. I'd already known about this piece of information, but technically Galactica didn't, so I had to pretend to keep up appearances. "During the early stages of the war, I'd decided to join the Decepticon forces because they offered me much more than what the Autobots ever could," he said. "You see, Galactica, I too hadn't been sparked here on Cybertron," he told me, and _that_ was when my optics widened for real.

"I'd been sparked on a planet called Velocitron, where a Transformer's worth was measured by how fast they could run and how long they could push their legs to their very limit. My creators were merchants, if you must know, and after my sister and I'd been sparked, they decided to bring their wares to other worlds.

"We traveled to many different planets, and encountered many different species. Eventually, we landed on Cybertron, where the Transformers race had originally been created on. My creators had decided to stay here, since they were entranced with Cybertron's numerous and unique cultures. This was also the planet where my sister and I had received our adult upgrades, and chose our separate ways from the family.

"I became a medic, whereas she became a news anchor. We lived busy yet peaceful lives, and that kind of lifestyle lasted for several vorns, until I received a rather troubling message from my creators. Apparently, their business had gone bankrupt because according to my creators, one of their most trusted confidant hadn't really been a very trustworthy mech and had ran off with their money.

"My sister and I did everything we could to help them. We gave them most of the credits we earned to help them rebuild their business and pull themselves out of poverty, and eventually our creators manages to raise their business back from the ground. Normality returned once again, and all was well for several vorns until one day, something...horrible happened.

"My sister and I received a phone call from the enforcers, informing us that our creators had been found dead in their very own home, with their spark casings and brain modules found ripped out of their own frames. I was...horrified, to say the least. The enforcers told us that it was simple burglary attempt that had gone wrong but the way our creators died seemed too...staged. It was only later on that we found out about the truth of our creators' deaths.

"We found out through our creators' shared daily log, which my sister knew that they hid in a hidden compartment within their berth, that they'd expected their death, and that they'd know about it for quite a while. Apparently, they had a rival company that took the competition...deathly serious, if you know what I mean," Knock Out said with a grimace, and I hesitantly nodded my helm, my own dermas pursed thinly. "Fortunately, our creators had left one little detail for us. The designation of the mech who'd ordered their assassination. I'd recognized that designation from anywhere. He was an important businessmech who, at that time, was a major supporter of the Autobots. Both me and my sister were stricken with grief, but whereas I mourned about the terrible truth behind our creators' deaths, my sister was downright vengeful.

"She'd used her job as a news anchor to her advantage, using every single one of her contacts to dig up any bad leads concerning our creators' murderer. For an entire orn, the news were filled about vi-drugs, murders, and corruption, and how that mech was connected to each one of them. My sister had immediately been removed after that by request of _that mech_ , and she'd been sent to be tried the solar cycle after. Half an orn after my sister's trial, where the case hadn't yet been solved and where a new trial was going to be in session the solar cycle afterwards, she'd...gone missing."

I felt all of my systems lurch to a sudden stop when I'd heard that.

"Missing?" I breathed out with wide optics.

Knock Out solemnly nodded. "Yes. Missing. The enforcers on my sister's case weren't able to find a single piece of evidence regarding her disappearance. It's as if she'd just...vanished into particles and took off with the wind," he said wistfully. "But I knew better than that. I knew that my sister hadn't simple _gone missing_ , especially when she was going to attest to _that mech's_ crimes. No. She'd been _taken_. By the very same mech that had murdered out creators and who she'd just ostracized. He'd _taken_ her. To where, I don't know. Frag, I don't know if she's even _online_ until now for Primus's sake. I'd given up hope long ago," he vented out. "I pleaded to the court that my sister had been taken by _that mech_ , by they just wouldn't listen. The claim that since there was no evidence, then my sister had just really vanished out of thin air.

"Because of that that, and out of my anger and misery for having my family taken away from me by _one stupid mech_ —I...I'd done the most moronic thing ever. I'd joined the Decepticons. Because if the mech that'd destroyed my whole life was supporting the Autobots then why don't I join the faction who's sole goal was to bring down the caste system and execute the corrupt mechs at the very top of the caste?

"When I'd enlisted myself, I'd first been treated as a foot soldier and _eugh!_ The things I had to do to please my superiors. My poor, poor frame went to recharge everyday with scratches and dents _everywhere_ because of the harsh training that I had to go through.

"But then the war happened for real. I'd been placed onto the battlefield underneath the command of the Constructicons. You know the Constructicons, right? The first and strongest combiner team of the Decepticons. I was flattered to be on their team to be honest, but only for a brief moment because there was a war happening around us and mechs were starting to kill one another and _die_.

"I was terrified at first, and I'd forgotten about the training I'd been taught. Because of that, I hadn't noticed the energy blast heading my way. Fortunately, I'd been pushed out of the way by Scrapper, a member of the Constructicons, who told me to stop looking slagged because the battle had only started. His words motivated me enough to snap me out of my terrified state, and I picked up my weapon and began fighting.

"We'd won that battle on that day, and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't happy on that day, despite being covered from helm to pede in the energon of the mech's I'd killed," he said with a wince, and I winced as well. "And I guess you can say that was when my medical prowess had been discovered when I offered to repair Scrapper as thanks for saving my life.

"Hook, another member of the Constructicons, had recognized my talent and skills in repairing, and I remembered that he'd asked for my designation before he left. The cycle afterwards, I received a data packet which told me to pack my things and transfer to the barracks for the battalion underneath the command of the Constructicons. From then on, I became Hook's assistant in the medbay," Knock Out said, a bitter smile on his dermas.

I stared at him, trying to process his words to the very best of my capabilities. I hadn't known this side of Knock Out before— _ever_. His background story had always been a total mystery in the canon series, so this—this was most definitely a first for me. I licked my dermas, one question lingering on the very trip of my glossa. I was really hesitant to ask about this but I also really wanted to know. "How did you leave the Decepticons?" I asked, looking him in the optics.

Knock Out merely gave me a strained smile. "I left."

I shuttered my optics. "You left?"

Knock Out nodded. "I just left," he confirmed with a shrug.

"Why?" More importantly, _HOW?!_

"I was tired," was his simple reply.

"Tired?" I asked, bemused.

" _Tired._ I was just tired of seeing mechs die every cycle, with my hands buried deep in their chassis, trying my best to jumpstart their spark back to life, only to fail in the end. I was just tired of having nobody to talk to about my problems in the Decepticons, when so many of my so called _comrades_ took to bullying me because of my position as a medic and also because of my height," he said, gesturing to his, ahem, small size. "I was tired of being alone. But, to be honest, I was just tired of _everything_ ," he vented out loudly at the end.

I felt the foreign object within me twitch with a twinge of pain for the sorrow on Knock Out's faceplates, and I vaguely noticed that my optics were slightly glossy with unshed tears. I understood what Knock Out was telling me—the feeling of being alone, of having nobody to tell my worries to, of having nobody familiar to connect to, or just simply having _nobody_ who'd known you for who you really were.

"So I left," Knock Out has said it so simply, as if it was that easy to leave the Decepticons. "During one battle, I hid myself underneath several offlined mech's frames when nobody was looking and I just...waited. I didn't know how long I'd stayed underneath those frames, but when I couldn't hear the sounds of mechs killing one another and dying anymore, I peeked out of my hiding place and saw that the field was filled with nothing but destruction and chaos, with the corpses of mechs littered _everywhere_.

"And I guess that was when I decided that the war had gone on long enough for me to become a murderer like _that mech_ as well. For _all of us_ to become murderers as well. So...I tore out my Decepticon sigil and simply ran away.

"I wandered about Cybertron for a few orns, before I finally settled down in Kaon, too tired and hungry to do anything. And that was where I'd met Crashthrough too, you know," Crashthrough said, his smile growing warmer and softer as his features lost its hard edges and took on a softer glow that made the foreign object within me flutter in delight. "He saw me. Out of the hundreds of dirty and tired and hungry mechs milling around, _he_ saw _me._ And he helped me too, y'know. He helped me get back on my pedes by enlisting me into the Gladiator Pit as a medic when I'd I told him about my occupation during the peaceful times of Cybertron.

"He gave me energon, a roof over my helm, and someone to talk to. He gave me everything I could ever need, plus more and _a lot_ of wax&shine," he said, his dermas twitching into an amused smirk. "In return, I eventually told him everything about me. About the death of my creators, how my sister had gone missing, how much I hated _that mech_ , and my defection from the Decepticons. I told him how I'd felt when I tore threw mechs on the field, how I used to enjoy it before I began to realize how disgusting I'd become. I'd expected Crashthrough to be fearful or disgusted by me, as most Neutrals had treated me when I'd been a Decepticon.

"But...Crashthrough just looked at me in the optics, patted me on my helm, and told me that he understood. And I guess that's when I decided that Crashthrough was a good mech despite his status as a Gladiator," Knock Out finally ended.

When he'd finished, suffice to say, I was _speechless_. I couldn't muster any words to form from my voice box, and for a few kliks, I was helplessly closing and opening my mouth, probably looking like a fish out of water. Knock Out smirked at my entertaining expressions, and I snapped my dermas shut, faceplates flushing brightly as I felt _mortified_ for being unable to say _anything_.

And then, when I'd _finally_ manage to form a single word, I still sounded dumb.

"Why?"

Knock Out raised an optical ridge. "Why what, Galactica?"

"Why are you telling all this to me?" I asked, looking at anywhere else but him.

"Why did you tell me about yourself?" Knock Out shot back. "It's simple, really. I asked and you answered, and you asked and I answered."

I turned my gaze to meet his. "You didn't have to answer, you know," I drawled.

"You as well," Knock Out replied.

"But you didn't have to tell me that you were a Decepticon, or that you weren't from Cybertron to begin with too," I snapped, folding my servos over my chassis. "So why are you telling me all this?" I demanded from him.

There was a brief moment of silence from the red-painted mech, before he quietly answered, "Because Crashthrough trusts you, and that's enough for me to trust you as well."

To say that was I was shocked in stupor, would be quite an overstatement. I wasn't shocked, to be honest—surprised, maybe. I mean, it wasn't really that much of a surprise from since I've already heard it from Crashthrough himself that he _trusted_ me (and I might admit that I trusted him as well, because he was nice and funny and so patient and generous to me that I really had no choice but to trust him) but not as much as he trusted Rouge and Vitallium. He told me that I was somewhere in between, right below Domino but _way_ over Venompoint.

But to hear it from another person made me feel all giddy and happy. It was a feeling similar to watching hot anime guys taking off their shirts, or Megatron laughing sexily in the Prime series, or maybe reading a fic about Sunstreaker and Sideswipe getting it on with the main fictional character.

It just made feel happy and embarrassed at the same time; but I was pleased, nonetheless, and I could tell by Knock Out's optic roll that I was _preening_.

At what could have been heart/spark-touching moment had been completely ruined by Crashthrough once he'd walked into the medbay.

"Hey," Crashthrough greeted, giving a two-fingered salute. "What'd I miss?" He asked, his gaze flickering from me to Knock Out.

But I wasn't looking at him. I was too busy staring at the energon stains on his frame—on his _hands_ , his _knees,_ his _pedes_ , and even a few specks of it on his _chassis_.

Knock Out must have noticed my internal distress at seeing the life energon splattered about on Crashthrough, because his dermas pulled back into a haughty and disgusted sneer, and he pointed at a door that I'd never really noticed until now.

"Go wash yourself off. I will _not_ allow you to have an energon treat unless you do so," Knock Out ordered.

Crashthrough looked every bit of a kicked puppy, but with a whirr of his engine, he relented and trudged off towards the what must be the wash racks.

I didn't notice that he was still carrying Backstrut's sword, the blade still covered with the life energon of its previous owner, and the pinkish purple liquid dripping down on the floor.

"Hey, Knock Out, where do you throw your things?" I asked, rubbing my armored stomach.

Knock Out gave me a curious look, but answered anyways. "At the trash chute, over there," he said, pointing over to a compartment in the wall that had a circular opening.

Nope. That wouldn't do for me.

"Do you have any empty containers with a wide opening that you don't plan on using anymore?" I asked instead, knowing that I need to be specific and detailed with my request.

"Ugh," Knock Out looked around, before he rummaged in one of the cabinets below and pulled out a big metal bucket. "Here. You can have this," he said, handing over the bucket to me to which I graciously accepted, before he furrowed his optical ridges at me. "You don't look alright, Galactica. Do you need any—"

I promptly emptied the contents of my energon tanks into the bucket, purging for all I was worth for a few nano-kliks, gagging and retching and all.

Knock Out just stared at me with wide optics, before he meekly nodded and backed away from me. "Ugh. Okay. I'm just gonna..." Knock Out trailed off until his back collided with the nearest wall. "Stand over here," he ended lamely.

I just rolled my optics after I was done puking my guts out.

* * *

 ** _Requesting to open Internal Logging...Requesting...Requesting...Request: granted._**

 ** _Opening Internal Logging; Accessing New File...New File: accessed._**

 ** _Opening New File... New File: opened; Opening New Unit File...New Unit File—DWE239595JGT9HGS88GFBCIJIW83BDWUBCUIWDBC0HDLPBF29_**

 ** _ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! UNKNOWN LINK TRESPASSING!_**

 ** _ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! FIREWALLS TURNED ON TO SETTINGS: MAX. ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! FIREWALLS HAVING BEEN OVERRIDE BY UNKNOWN LINK!_**

 ** _PREPARING TO ENGAGE UNKNOWN LINK WITH DEFENSIVE—_**

 ** _DEFENSIVE SYSTEMS: OVERRIDED; PREPARING TO ENGAGE_** ** _—_** ** _ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_** ** _ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_** ** _ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_** ** _ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_** ** _ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_** ** _ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR_** ** _—_**

My vision turned red.

* * *

 **" Hello there, little one."**

A light that blinded my optics. A familiar voice that sounded soothing and relaxing to my audial sensors. A towering, hulking frame over my teeny weensy one, with glass orbs the color of blazing flames looking down at me.

I stared up, at a loss for words to say anything, much less _breathe_ , and looked down at myself, only to blink when I caught sight of my originally fleshy body that could be squished into a incomprehensible and gory mess of blood, bones, and organs instead of the metallic body that I'd grown accustomed to over time.

"...What?" Was the only thing I'd managed to say.

In all his deep blue armor, Primus just gave me a gentle smile compared to his benevolent holy status as a motherfucking _deity_ of a race of beings made out metal that were the size (or maybe one and a half of the size) of the empire state building. **"** **It's so very nice to see you again,** **"** he offered politely enough.

I just continued to master my expression of a dying fish.

Because of my silence, Primus furrowed his optical ridges, looking concerned and confused. **" Are you alright? I was sure that nothing too damaging had happened to you before we could talk again..." **He said, before he bent down and grabbed me by the back of my shirt—and woah, I was _human_ again. A human with _clothes_ , and not a gigantic sexyass being made out of pure metal that felt like I was naked _all the fucking time_.

Him treating me like a doll seemed to snap me out of my stupor, because my body immediately went into get-away-from-the-crazy-and-freaky-robot-who's-ruined-your-life mode. I struggled against my captor, twisting and wriggling—fortunately, Primus seemed to understand that I didn't like to be lifted, much less touched by him now because oooh, that fucking _bastard!_ —because Primus then settled me back on the ground.

"YOU!" I started, jabbing an accusing finger at him, face twisted into an expression of what felt like pure and utter rage, and prepared to give him the lecture of this millennia. "HOW DARE—"

 **" Wait," **Primus said, holding up a hand in the universal sign of stop, and I did, with my mouth frozen open as I glared up at him. **" As a sign of my goodwill and my sincere apologies for having not respected your denial towards my request, as well as for all the trouble I've caused you, I bring a peace offering," **he said and, with a snap of his fingers, a straw basket appeared in front of me.

Dumbstruck, I stared down at it before curiosity got the better part of me and I knelt down to remove the cloth covering its content, wondering why the cloth was so cold.

Ah.

I stared down at Primus's offering to me, not really knowing what to do.

I looked up at the metal behemoth. "These are mine?" I asked, pointing at the mangoes—fuck, they weren't _just_ mangoes. They were _frozen_ mangoes!

Primus nodded. **"** **All of it.** **"**

"..." I honestly did not know what to say, because I was too busy and serious contemplating over which was better. The frozen mangoes, or getting mad at Primus.

But wait. I could always get mad at him later, right? And I could ways barb him with words, right? And frozen mangoes were more important, right?

"Okay," I decided, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I'll accept your offering for now," I told him, and reached out for a mango.

I didn't bother looking up at him—because for all I knew, he could be wearing an arrogantly smug expression on his face.

That bastard.

* * *

 **ROUGE - III**

As Cerise and her carrier walked along the busy streets of Kaon, it was evident to the newly-upgraded youngling that there were stark differences between this city-state and Praxus. It was dirty and crowded here, unlike the normally pristine and less populated streets of her original city-state. Cerise could still smell the scent of rust and something unpleasant burning in the air, and she scrunches her nose in disgust.

Her carrier looks down at her when she tugs on her hand. "Hm? What's the matter sweetspark?" Carousel asked, her pretty faceplates twisting into an expression of concern.

Cerise resolutely shakes her helm. "It smells here, carrier," was all she'd said, her bottom dermas jutting out to form a displeased pout.

Her carrier chuckles at her comment, her engine rumbling lightly in accompaniment. She moves them towards the front of a shop to avoid the flow of Cybertronians that would likely push them forward if they had not stopped at the side.

Cerise shutters when she feels her carrier's hand move to the top of her helm and rub it affectionately, making Cerise coo softly in reply.

"Don't worry, sweetspark," Carousel says softly, before taking her much smaller hand in her big one and guiding her to the inside of the shop that, when Cerise looks up, was actually a really tall building painted in dark colors that make her frown.

They enter the building, and Cerise is immediately hit with the smell of… _something_. It's a foreign smell to her, and she decides that she doesn't like the smell of it because it's sweet and sour at the same time and makes her main processor ache and makes her feel woozy all over.

She and her carrier stop right in front of a large desk, where a slight mech sits behind, his red optics the only thing Cerise can see interesting about him before she turns away, a look of boredom on her faceplates.

Her carrier lets go of her hand, opting to place it on the counter where she leans forward and against it so that she could greet the unfamiliar mech with a brilliant smile. Cerise takes a moment to admire her carrier's beauty, her tall frame full of sleek curves and shiny armor that practically gleams underneath whatever light there is in the dim room. Felling a little envious of her creator, because she can never be as beautiful or pretty as her carrier when all she'll ever be is adorable and cute, Cerise promptly looks away with a huff.

Several kliks pass by and Cerise looks away, disinterested and irritated. She looks around the room for a better place to go to, before the disgusting smell of the room hits her in the faceplates and she decides enough is enough and proceeds to go to the front door.

Cerise looks back at her carrier, who's still in conversation with the receptionist at the desk, and feels guilt curl around her spark for a brief klik before she exits the building and steps into the dirty streets of Kaon. The air in Kaon is still smelly and disgusting, but it's infinitely better than that stuff in that building.

Cerise decides to pass the time by leaning against the building and watching the several dozens of Cybertronians that pass by, trying to find the most notable one as of yet.

And then, from the sea of dully colored Cybertronians, Cerise spots a sudden flash of bright blue in the crowd that makes her shutter her optics and struggle to find the source of the blue out of curiosity.

Cerise's red optics twinkle when she catches sight of that bright baby blue coloring once again, and she's surprised to find it on not only a youngling that seems to be about her age, but _two_ younglings.

Cerise furrows her optical ridges, tilts her helm to the side a bit, and squints her optics to get a better look of the two younglings. Both seemed to be of the same height, with dark brown smudges of dirt and rust covering most parts of their frames; what little colors that Cerise could distinguish from the obviously physically unhealthy mechlings were dull, but Cerise could see that one of them had a bright red paintjob whilst the other had an optic-catching shade of yellow.

But it's their optics that catch her attention. Throughout a sea of mechs with optics that vary from shades of red to yellow, they're the only ones with pairs of bright blue optics

And then, Cerise notices the pair of younglings struggling against the hold the mech who had their servos in a tight grip.

If Cerise had been any other youngling, she'd assumed that the younglings were most likely being dragged off to a much private corner so that their creators could berate them for what must be their acts of naughtiness—but, Cerise is no ordinary sparkling; she's the creation of two of the best enforcers of Praxus, and she's reminded of it everyday, so Cerise notices the terrified expression on their faceplates and their cries for help and their snarls to let go of them that's drowned out by the crowd's incessant chatter and feigned ignorance from Cybertronians neaby.

And, even if she's raised to know better, instead of alerting the nearest enforcer, the femmeling dives straight into the crowd, clumsily weaving through several Cybertronians' legs, doing her very best to reach the two mechlings who are most likely in danger of getting kidnapped and receiving a good and solid beating judging by the anger on the older mech's features.

For the first klik, Cerise is running blindly within the crowd; searching and scanning for bright blue optics. And then, Cerise sees it. It's a vague flash of blue that might have been a trick of the bright lights from above to her vision, but it's enough to make Cerise turn her helm and see those pair of mechlings a few meters away from her, with a few Cybertronians blocking her way

She sees their faceplates, that are a mix of pure terror and fury, and she doesn't even waste time by second thinking about her decisions as she begins to squeeze her way through the mechs and femmes in her way, with a few even snarling at her to watch her Primus-slagging way.

And then finally, after much squeezing through and running, Cerise reaches them, just close enough to reach the hip armor of the mech that's dragging those two mechlings. And Cerise does so too. She curls her fingers into a particularly deep groove located in the mech's left hip, and she doesn't even hesitate as she pulls down on it and says,

"Hey!"

The mech immediately halts when he feels an immense pain flare up from his side, causing the two mechlings that he's been dragging around to crash in the back of his legs that hardly makes him flinch. His dark red optics immediately meets Cerise' bright red ones, and Cerise feels a bubble of fear well up inside of her spark when she sees the pure and unadulterated anger that's sparking from his optics

But Cerise is anything but cowardly, so she swallows down her fear and tilts her chin up a little higher.

"What do you think you're doing to those younglings?" She sees the irony in her words, but she doesn't correct it. What's done is done, after all.

The mech and the mechlings shutter their optics in a startled manner, and Cerise's glare meets the yellow mechling's gaze for a brief moment before she moves her gaze back to the tall mech who's now snarling at her with a dark look plastered upon his features.

"A nosy sparklin' like ya has no slaggin' business with adult business," the mech growls out lowly to her. "So stay the frag away from'it," he says in a threatening voice.

In reply, Cerise's doorwings hike up, quivering from the tense grip she has on them, as she tries to contain the rage bubbling up inside of her. "Sparkling?!" Cerise practically screeches out, and she sees the mech and mechlings wince at the pitch of her voice. "I'm a youngling, for your information! And it's automatically my business when I see mechs like you go around kidnapping younglings like them," she says, pointing at each one of them throughout her tiny speech.

The mechlings shutter their optics at her, whereas the mech's faceplates have turned a bright purplish pink as he sputters aloud.

"Now look 'ere ya—"

"NO!" Cerise bursts out. "You look here! You have no right to tell me what to do when you're the one dragging a pair of screeching younglings, who're screaming as if you're about to kill them, off to who knows where!" she exclaims.

The mech stares at her blankly for a short moment, taking the time to process her words, before his faceplates twist into an expression of anger, so much of it that Cerise can even see it burning in his optics, as his dermas pull back to reveal canines that are much sharper than her carrier's.

Cerise takes a nano-klik to reflect over her past actions, and decides that she hasn't really been thinking all too clearly.

"Shut yer trap, ya fragging glitch," the mech snarls, letting go of the two mechlings from his hold. "Ya ought tah be taught some manners," he says, before his hands suddenly surge forward with the intent to hurt her.

Cerise reacts out of pure instinct, whipping out the device her sire had given to her in case of emergencies from her subspace, before jabbing its coiled end into the mech's knee joint and pressing the button that would activate it.

The reaction was instantaneous. Bolts of electricity start to form from within the device, until it curls around the coils of the device, sparking and crackling with dangerous and bright energy, before it surges toward the mech's knee joint, where a series of energon tubes laid on top of it. The electricity crackles once before it curls around the energon tubes and attacks.

The mech roars in pain as electricity envelops his entire being, his optics brightening up to its brightest limit. This lasts for a few kliks, and all Cerise can do is watch with a mix of anger and slight fear for having used it on a Cybertronians for the first time.

And then, after realizing that Cerise still has the tazer glued to the mechs frame, she pulls back and stops pressing down on the button, and the surges of electricity immediately comes to a halt. Cerise warily watches as the mech's optics brighten and dim for a few astroseconds, before the mech's frame tips back and he crumples to the ground, his entire frame convulsing a few times from the remaining sparks of electricity.

Cerise vents out heavily, trying to overcome the shock that's still enveloping her. She shudders deeply, looking at the tazer in her hands with fear for the power it holds, before she subspaces it back. Her doorwings tremble a little, but Cerise forces herself to be strong. She'd already done it, so there's no use in regretting it.

It takes her a moment to realize that Cybertronians are starting to stop and stare at the incident that had just occurred, but she'd already been grabbed at the servos and pulled into the crowd before that detail could even be registered.

Cerise shutters her dark red optics at the two mechlings that are currently dragging her off to who knows where, her servos held tightly in their grip with the red one on her left and the yellow one on her right. Cerise stumbles upon her pedes a few times from how fast the two mechlings were moving.

It takes them a while before Cerise is suddenly pushed into a dark alleyway, and she gasps when she lands on the dirty and slightly gritty ground that grates against her rump when she lands on it. She grumbles underneath her breath as she rubs her bottom, and turns her narrowed gaze upon the two mechlings who are currently peering around the edges of the alleyway and chattering amongst themselves in quite voices.

"Couldn't bother giving me a warning, huh?" She speaks aloud, hoping to garner their attention.

And it did.

Both mechlings instantly stop talking, and slowly turn their helms to face her. Their bright blue gazes meet her bright red one, and Cerie could practically feel the awkwardness crawling up her frame and trying to strangle her.

"You 'kay?" Red, as Cerise had decided to call them by their paintjobs, asks her in broken and awkward Universal Cybertronian, and Cerise squints her optics to inquisitively stare at the mechling.

It's quite obvious to her that the mechlings are Kaonians by spark and growth, what with their naturally formed sharp dentals and the spiked armor protecting their knee and elbow joints; so it's natural for them to be fluent in Kaonian and struggling with Universal Cybertronian as most younglings are upgraded with the knowledge modules of it.

Too bad she knows slag about Kaonian though.

"I should be asking you guys about that," Cerise says, smiling faintly, and her smile only grows a little bigger when she sees Red's faceplates brighten up.

"We's fine," Red says, beaming, and Cerise resists the urge to giggle at his slip-up.

"Thank you," Yellow says quietly, shifting from pede to pede as he shyly avoids her gaze, his bottom derma jutting out to form a sullen pout.

Cerise really wants to coo at how adorable Yellow looks right now, but she decides to hide her desire to glomp him by grinning widely. "It's no problem. It's the least I can do for you guys. Us younglings have to stick together, right?" she says.

Cerise shutters her optics in confusion when she sees Red's dermas curl downwards whilst Yellow's faceplates twist into a grimace at her words, and she's about to question it when she feels a pulse of worry and fear coming from the bond she shares with her carrier.

She panics for a moment, because she doesn't know if she still remembers the way back to the building, but Cerise remembers that it's located in the main road, and all she has to do is to get out of the alleyway, stick as close as possible to the lines of buildings, and avoid any suspicious mechs. So, she sends her carrier a wave of comfort, with the silent message of 'I'm safe'

Cerise pushes down the guilt when she sends her carrier a message through their private comm. Lines, telling her carrier that she'll return in a klik or two because she'd seen something interesting across the street.

"Hey, ugh, I have to go," Cerise says. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Red, Yellow. I hope we'll see each other again someday," she says absentmindedly, not even noticing that she'd used her temporary nicknames for them.

Cerise is already out of the alleyway by the time Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchange looks of bemusement.

* * *

 **Word Count:** 15,500

 **Time of Finish:** March 29, 2016 at 8:59 PM

* * *

 **Prizes of the Winners:**

For Gavoot The Scout, who'd only asked for one or two extra, but got three because I'm hyperactive.

 **EXTRA 1: In which no mech can resist a sparkling, no matter how tough or cold they are.**

Cerise stared up at the big mech standing in front of her, bottom derma jutting out and trembling slightly as her ruby red optics gazed into icy blue ones. Her tiny doorwings fluttered a little bit, and the light and soft armor protecting the shell of her protoform bristled a little bit, showing how distressed and upset she currently was right now.

Cerise mewled softly, raising her servos, and shaking them wildly in the air, demanding to be picked up.

Prowl merely stared down at her, a blank expression taking over his features, before he vented out softly and shook his helm. "No," he told her sternly, making Cerise's optics widen a bit at the negative word that she had come to be very familiar with. "You need to start walking on your own, young one. You're nearly half a vorn old now, and sparklings your age usually know how to walk properly by then," he told her.

Cerise gave off a high-pithced whine, shaking her helm from side to side, showing her displeasure with having to get up own her own two legs. She'd already shown her creators that she could do it, and wobbly walk from sire to carrier and vice-versa; so _why_ did she have to do it for a mech she barely knows? And without any reward whatsoever?

Prowl merely watched as the sparkling threw a mini-tantrum, before he vented out once again, deciding to sit down on the floor with his legs bent into an indian-style of sitting. He vented out once again, propping an elbow on top of his tibulen, and placing his chin onto the palm of his hand, deciding that he could pass the time by pondering deeply about the next assignment Cruiser and Gunner would give to him and his partner, Tumbler. Prowl could only tell that it'd be another impossible one that would require his superiors help, _again_.

The feeling of something warm and small being placed on his cheek had snapped him back to reality. His optics flew from their gaze on the dark spot between his legs, and immediately connected with wide, red optics that were looking up at him with furrowed optical ridges. Prowl shuttered his optics, but he didn't recoil away from the sparkling's palm on his cheek. Instead, he looked down at Cerise, and saw that she was standing on both of her legs that were a little bit too wobbly, with her other hand gripping the armor protecting his knee, bracing herself up with it.

He returned his gaze back onto Cerise's face, and finally noticed the worry clouding her features. "What's wrong, young one?" He asked her softly, feeling something inside of him twist at the thought of his captain's sparkling getting hurt underneath his care. Oh, the extra trainings from the Pit he'd receive...

Cerise shuttered her big optics at him, before she opened her mouth and clicked a little.

Prowl merely furrowed his optical ridges at the young one, before he allowed his usually calm energy field to relax itself from its tight hold on itself. Letting it slowly trickle itself out and brush against Cerise's calm and very small energy field so as to not alarm her, he tensed up when _her_ energy field surged towards his, and immersed herself with him.

 _Worry. Prowl fine? Concern. Prowl sad? Fear. Prowl hurt?_

Prowl blinked through the sudden onslaught of emotions that weren't his that whirled within him, and it took him a very long moment to reorganize what were _his_ and what were _hers_. It took him half a klik to understand what Cerise was so worked up about, and his lips twitched upward as he looked down at the sparkling that was still looking up at him with worry.

 _Prowl ok?_

Prowl let out a deep, yet very short, chuckle. He brought one of his hands up to pet Cerise's helm, using his thumb to rub the bright red surface of her chevron that were starting to curl towards the back—a sign that she was a femme Praxian through and through—making the sparkling purr at the affectionate touch. Prowl remembered that his carrier would do this to him whenever he was about to slip into recharge when he'd just been a sparkling that couldn't be any older than Cerise was right now, so he really couldn't help the warm smile that slowly bloomed upon his dermas.

"Yes, I'm alright, young one," Prowl rumbled deeply, and he didn't hesitate to slip his hands underneath Cerise's servos, so that he could carry her and plop her down onto his lap. Cerise's wings fluttered in delight at that, and her frame slowly began to relax from its intense workout of having to stand up. It looked to Prowl that she hadn't been using her legs up as much as a sparkling her age should. "You're creators really spoiled you, huh?" He murmured softly, continuing to rub her chevron.

Cerise's optics onlined from when she'd closed them to enjoy the sensation of having her chevron rubbed, and she looked up at him with wide, red optics that made his spark warm up just a tiny bit and made his own doorwings flutter in response to her fluttering doorwings. Then, Cerise began to insistingly butt her helm against his hand that had stopped rubbing her chevron, and Prowl merely sighed as he resumed feeding the little sparkling a lot of affectionate rubs.

For a sparkling with a loving sire and a doting carrier, Cerise was a very attention-seeking sparkling.

However, as Prowl looked down at the purring sparkling, he couldn't help but admit that she was a rather adorable thing.

 **EXTRA 2: In which Tumbler becomes a playground.**

Tumbler really had no idea how it'd come to this. One klik he'd been standing in the middle of the training room that Gunner had so cruelly locked him in, with the order of practicing the katas Tumbler had been taught an orn ago; then the next thing he knew, he had a tiny sparkling sitting in front of him, looking up at him with big red optics that were starting to creep him out.

"Uh, hey there, um, Cerise was it?" Tumbler greeted, crouching down to pat his captain's sparkling on the helm. He smiled behind his faceguard when Cerise purred underneath his touch, her tiny doorwings fluttering in delight. "It's nice to officially meet you. I'm Tumbler, your sire's subordinate. I hope we'll get along from now on," he introduced himself.

Cerise onlined her optics, shuttering a few times at him, before she nodded exuberantly at him.

Tumbler's visor crested from the bottom, indicating that he was grinning widely.

Suddenly, Cerise tilted her helm at him, dark red optics widening just a tiny bit more as she seemed to scrutinize something on his helm. Tumbler shuttered his optics, placing his hand on the top of his helm and feeling around, only to discover that there wasn't anything wrong with it. Furrowing his optical ridges behind his visor, he opened his dermas to ask what had interested Cerise so, only to shut up when she reached up at him and grabbed a hold of one of his fins.

"Huh?" Tumbler spoke aloud, pulling back in surprise; in doing so, since he had underestimated Cerise's strength and determination, Cerise pulled back with him, wrapping her tibulens around his neck as she clung to his fins, emitting a soft thrill of delight. "No. Oh, no no no no," Tumbler said as he tried to pry the sparkling off of his fins.

Cerise just thrilled even louder, thinking this was part of the game, and began digging her fingers into the grooves on the side of his fins.

"OW! Cerise! No! Don't—OW!" Tumbler cried out.

Cerise just giggled in glee.

 **EXTRA 3: In which Prowl is a bad mech.**

Prowl looked to the left, where Gunner was currently yelling out in his loudest voice at the new recruits to 'hurry it up, you fragging lugnuts. You have _engines_ , for frag's sake! Use them!' through a megaphone. Prowl looked to the right where Cruiser and Tumbler were having a one-sided match, the former proceeding the beat the latter out of his own armor whilst giving out tips that the latter would most likely never remember.

He looked to the left then to right once again for a few more times before he popped out a metallic container out of his subspace, then hid said container behind his back.

He looked downwards to his side, where Cerise was idly playing with her glowing blocks, mesmerized by their appearance.

Prowl gave the metallic container a shake, its contents creating a rather loud clang.

Cerise froze, before she turned her helm up towards him, shuttering her big red optics.

Prowl sat down on the ground, knees bowed. "Do you have what your carrier gave you?" He asked, rubbing her helm, so that it'd looked like he was just praising her from the eyes of others.

Cerise just shuttered her optics up at him, before she looked back down at her glowing blocks and got the dark blue one. Prowl bemusedly accepted the block from her, before realizing that she'd been holding the memory stick between her thumb and the glowing block.

 _'Smart,'_ he noted, and Cerise just blinked up at him as Prowl subspaced the memory stick that contained delicious, delicious blackmail material of his captain's superiors.

There'd been a few mechs who'd been harassing his captain, probably because of the specialization unit he'd personally opened, and most of them had been both vocal and physical about their opinions about it. A few had tried to offline Cruiser in some missions, all of which had failed, and it didn't take too long for Carousel to hear about her sparkmate's predicament.

Prowl too had been displeased to hear about it, but he didn't act out on it like Gunner and Tumbler had tried to, which Cruiser had scolded them for their improper decorum. No. Instead, Carousel had recruited him in her mission to silently destroy a few of these mechs who weren't really needed, slowly destroying their reputations within the department until the Chief-Enforcer-of-Praxus had no choice but to abolish them from their positions in other to save the reputation of the overall department.

Carousel was going to send a warning to them. Don't mess with Cruiser's unit. And Prowl was going to deliver it. His captain's unit was useful to Praxus, and it'd mostly restored the order in the city. Abolishing it now would just cause some unneeded ruckus and probably increase the crime rate of the city-state.

Prowl was a mech of honor and order. But even he had to shed his honor and cause some chaos within the ranks to maintain a somewhat temporary peace for Praxus.

Prowl discretely handed the metallic container to Cerise, who'd shakily walked over to sit behind him. The sparkling purred as she opened it, and began munching on her reward, making pleased noises.

Prowl just smiled as he rubbed her chevron, making the sparkling coo mid-chew.

 _'And besides_ ,' _Prowl thought, inwardly smirking. 'They'll never know who started all this chaos_.'

Prowl may be a stoic mech, but even he found amusement in his own ways.

* * *

 **Special Event!**

IT'S SUMMER FOR ME, BITCHES! In celebration, I'm willing to take in the requests of the first five reviewers or people who'll contact me their request via PM or review mwahahaha! Come on, now! GO GO GO! i gotta get my juices running, I swear.

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 **Question/Task of this Chapter:**

To be honest, just how much do you think of the troublemaker twins? I mean Sunstreaker and Sideswipe (not Skids and Mudflap). I know that a lot of you are googoo-gaga over them (heck, I'll admit that I _have_ gone googoo-gaga over them, but that's all in the past now.) For me, as characters, they have a lot of angst in their past, and they make excellent reasons to have threesomes with if they're a character's love interests, but, other than that, well... _

They're pretty hard characters to grasp on, especially Sunstreaker's personality. Sideswipe's pretty easy, it's just that his twin is fucking hard as hell. I can tell that many of you want them to be Meg's love interests (what with the PM's I get) and I've been mulling over that fact, but it just doesn't fit right with me. Meg's love interest has already been set, and, well, to be honest, her love interest's _pretty_ intense (and insane), and have most of you gawking by the time you realize, _woah, what the hell, why **him**?!_

So...yeah. Just wanted to know what are your thoughts about Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, because they're a pretty big part of this fic's future, and I need to gather some insight from you guys ahaha.

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Beta? What Beta? Is it something you can eat? Ara? My co-author? That lazy old hag? She can't edit for her life! Sometimes...but she's lazy af. So excuse some mistakes. Please point it out for me so that I can correct it uhuhuhu Q_Q


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